


(treat me nice) never let me go

by pinkgrapefruit



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, have fun?, lawyer! brooke, nina is a fucking sweetheart as always, oh yeah i just rewrote pretty woman gay, rupaul bashing, she's a fucking brat, the author loves this story even if you don't, this is my favourite vanessa i've ever written, vanessa has a heart if gold, vanessa the hooker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2020-07-25 17:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20029735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgrapefruit/pseuds/pinkgrapefruit
Summary: Brooke chuckles, “I bet you've known a lot of lawyers.”“I've known a lot of everybody.”[pretty woman au]





	1. chapter 1. heading to the wishing well, we’ve reached our last resort

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This has been a long time coming - a really long time - but I’m so excited to finally share it with you. I love this fic and the characters I've twisted out of it so much and I hope you will to. A small point, I know that I've written Vanessa as a prostitute and had I not started this at the end of april, you bet my ass I would have made Brooke the hoe but we’re here now. Special thanks to Frey and Linda (Qtip) for always being my cheerleaders (and trusty betas) , Writ for reading this chapter through the first time and the clanjie discord for inspiring the idea to begin with. Let me know what you think and Enjoy!

It’s a hot day in Downtown Los Angeles, the smog sitting heavy on the rolling hills around. Brooke sighs and wipes a palm across her forehead, feeling the foundation she’d painstakingly applied melt right off with the sweat of the day. It’s 6.pm., but she feels like she’s lived seven lives all at once, each flowing into the next with unyielding monotony. She’d won a case (or a few, but who’s counting), but instead of celebrating with her coworkers she was told that she had to stay another week, so she shuffled her now unshoed feet down the 30 flights of stairs and out into her borrowed car. She’d never been a ‘let your hair down’ kinda gal, rushing through law at Toronto in 3 years with joint honours in management and corporate law. Having said that, Brooke had unbuttoned her jacket, loosened her tie and removed the bun ring from her long blonde ponytail before one could utter the phrase ‘long day’. It was a long day.

She leans her head against the wheel of the four by four with a dull thud. As a Canadian, these were her most comfortable cars, one she’d been birthed in and practically raised in, being ferried from dance to academic decathlon and back to dance. But to say she feels comfortable in it, that would be a stretch. Brooke reaches into her bag with a wince, as it stretches the muscle between her shoulder she always forgets exists, until she spends half a day in court. Pulling out her phone (and then the right phone), she mindlessly swipes through her emails until she finds the relevant booking, before burying it back into the bag and pushing the button that rolls down the window. ‘The Queen,’ she hums to herself as she sets off in the direction of Olympic. It is then she realises she does not have a clue how to get around LA.

*

She’s pretty sure her head is sweating under the wig, but at the same time, she’s sweating all over, so she can’t really tell anymore. Vanessa forwent her tights hours ago, and is now standing in what she deems a perfectly respectable skirt/bodysuit combination, that Katya playfully described as ‘overdressed nudity’. She can’t say that it’s an incorrect assessment.

They stand on the street corner like they do every Monday night, her, Silky and Katya - all long legs and tight tops - letting the men in cars drive past with their whistles and their handfuls of crumpled dollars that would be stuffed down the cleavage of the bodysuits while the girls give rushed blowjobs in the back of Ferraris. The windows are always blacked out and they always hassle over the condom, but, at the end of the day, it’s good money and she’s got a few regulars now. ‘I work nights,’ she tells her mama over the phone, it is technically a night job - if she’s lying a little bit, her mama doesn't have to know.

Katya flinches as glass shatters in the bar behind them, her dirty blonde hair whipping around as she storms inside. Silky nudges Vanessa, saying something about protecting her girl's honour, about Trixie being able to handle her own goddamn bar, but the shorter girl has checked out. Her eyes have glazed over a little, staring at the car that’s just pulled up - Silky of course notices, watches as Vanessa zeroes in on not only the car's make, but also the blonde inside of it. 

“It's an SV-Coupé,” she mumbles, still staring intently. 

Silky barks out a laugh. “No bitch, that’s rent. You should go for her. You look hot tonight,” she encourages loudly, arms waving a little, both in excitement and impatience. She gets a small shake of the head as the girl snaps out of her bewilderment and, as she slowly walks towards the car, Silky calls out, “Don't take less than a hundred. Call me when you're through. Take care of yourself!”

Maybe Vanessa swings her hips a little more, she’s planning on taking care of something. As Katya comes back out of the bar, face more than over the day already, she sighs. 

“She gon’ get some,” Silky sings, dancing in the street. 

The blonde raises an eyebrow, “But in what way?” she ponders as they part ways to tend to other drivers. Silky’s cackling can be heard right down Olympic.

*

Brooke’s not stupid, she knows what the girls on Olympic do, she knows how they toss their hair and other parts of their bodies in return for money, and while, yes, she respects them, she has no intention of getting near them. And then she realises she is well and truly lost. She pulls in where a black Audi has just pulled out, leans back into her seat a little and lets out a heavy sigh. As she does this, there’s a knock on the bottom of the window, the sound catching her off guard, as her eyes snap open from their half-lidded positions and fall onto a petite girl. Her confidence seems to come into focus, before the appearance does, brashly placing her forearms on the window, leaning in like she knows Brooke. The girl has deep brown eyes, Brooke notes, as she finds herself falling in a little. She sits bolt upright, startled - the bright blonde giggling at her expense. “Hey Sugar.” She smiles coyly. “You lookin’ for a date?”

Brooke bites back a smile, knew this was coming, but so feverishly hoped it wouldn’t. “No,” she replies bluntly, but the smile doesn’t leave the girls face. “I’m not from around here, I just want directions to Beverly Hills.” 

Her eyebrows are raised comically as she mock-ponders Brooke’s statement. “Sure, hun, 6 bucks.” She makes the grabby hand, but it doesn’t come off as overzealous.

“Sorry, ma’am, but that’s ridiculous”

“I’ll take 10.”

“You can't charge me for directions.”

“I can do anything I want, baby, I ain’t lost,” she bats back, she looks almost bored, and it’s starting to get on Brooke's nerves just a little bit.

“Fine, you win,” she sighs. “Got change for a twenty?” 

The girl shakes her head and winks, grabbing the money clean out of Brooke's fingers and twirling it around a little before shoving it in, what she assumes to be, her boot. She tugs at something on her way up, and once she’s leaning back on the window, waves her hand a little, unravelling a roll of condoms as she smirks earnestly. It takes all of Brooke's waning self-control not to laugh. “If you want anything after the directions, not only am I better than an amateur, I’m safer!” It could be a brag, but Brooke just rolls her eyes and points to the other door of the car, making the motion of unlocking it, so as to spur the young woman into getting in. She bounces a little in her seat as she closes the door, looking fascinated at the car in its entirety.

“What’s your name?” Brooke asks as she fiddles with the air conditioning, trying to angle it so the cool air blasts directly onto her chest - flushed from the heat (and possibly this girl). 

“What do you want it to be?” She gets no response, Brooke merely raising an eyebrow pointedly.

“Vanessa. My name is Vanessa.”

“So, what’s the hotel?”

Brooke hums under her breath for a second, trying desperately to find the hotel's name in her brain that’s been frazzled from a day in court. “The Queen? Beverly?” she tries. Vanessa nods, starts reeling off directions that the Canadian cannot follow quickly enough. They’re barely five minutes down the road when she demands to swap. 

“God, this must drive like a dream,” squeals Vanessa once they’ve changed sides. She strokes the wooden centre console as she talks, letting her fingers feel all the grooves of it - it feels expensive, like she shouldn’t be there. “V8 petrol, paddle shifters, two-speed transfer box!” Brooke has never seen someone get so excited about a car, but even more so, she’s astonished that it’s this tiny woman who is the one getting excited. 

“You know about cars then, huh,” Brooke muses as they pull away. “Where did that come from?”

“My pops used to work on ‘em,” she answers cheerily, eyes trained on the road as she easily navigates the traffic. Brooke wipes her eyes blearily, knows she’s still got work to do when she gets back to the hotel, but she’s being driven and, dear  _ god,  _ she could nap right now.

“So, what kind of money do you girls make these days?” questions Brooke as she shuffles in her seat. 

Vanessa tilts her head to the side for a second, a bemused smile on her face as she considers her answer. “Can’t take less than ‘undred a night,” she replies after a thought. 

“For an hour?” It shocks Brooke a little as the girl nods. “And you’ve got a safety pin holding up your boot? You must be joking?” 

Vanessa squints a little. “I don’t joke about money, babe.”

“Neither do l.”

“Hundred dollars an hour. Pretty stiff.”

“Well, no. But it's got potential.”

“You ready?” she asks as they get closer to the hotel, they’re approaching a corner and Brooke becomes apprehensive immediately. "I'm gonna show you what this car can really do, hang on, okay?”

They ricochet round the corner, Vanessa looking like she’s having the time of her life, while the other woman looks like she’s just been rudely awakened from a nice dream. She could be angry, but that would take too much energy. She settles on amazed.

When they pull up at the hotel, Brooke would be lying if she said she wasn't a little sad. A valet approaches the car and Vanessa hands him the keys before hopping out, Brooke steps out too, although a little less excitedly. The two gaze up at the hotel, maybe a little resentment passes over Brooke's face, but no one notices.

“So,” Brooke starts as they stand awkwardly outside the hotel, “are you going to be okay?”

“Me? I’ll get the bus, I’ll be fine.” Vanessa smiles and Brooke believes her willingly.

“I can call you a taxi?”

“I like the bus.”

Brooke nods and moves to leave, she’s almost convinced herself she wants to, but there is something, some invisible force that does not care about the work she has to do, that won’t let her go. She stops and slowly, with great intent, turns back around. She finds Vanessa staring at where her ass would be, and is a little proud. 

“I was thinking, did you say a hundred an hour?”

“Yeah?” The girl replies, a little confused.

“You got any prior engagements?”

Vanessa’s smile widens, a happy grin spreading across her face. She shakes her head animatedly. 

“Then I'd be very pleased if you would accompany me into the hotel.”

“You got it!” She laughs as she pulls the barely-there skirt down over her ass. 

“What’s your name?”

“Brooke Lynn.” 

“Brooke Lynn? That’s my favourite name in the whole world!” She exclaims and Brooke can’t help the way her heart flutters when Vanessa says her name like that. Three syllables instead of two, pulling it in her mouth like taffy.

“No,” she responds half mocking with a soft smile. They bump shoulders as they walk into the hotel, and Brooke isn’t sure she stops smiling that night.

*

The second they enter the hotel, the Canadian becomes acutely aware of what her counterpart is wearing. It’s disgusting and, frankly, ridiculous, but she knows that the people there won’t see Vanessa how she sees her. To them she’s a short, bleached blonde Latina in a skimpy outfit, and even if she is what they think she is, Brooke already detests the way she feels eyes on them. She shrugs off her blazer and hands it to Vanessa with a gentle look. “Why don’t you put this on,” she says and she can hear the softness in her voice, the way it melts when the girl looks upset. It drowns her and it’s kind of bittersweet. “This isn’t the kind of establishment that rents rooms by the hour,” she attempts to justify, but what she really means is ‘This is full of judgy assholes, I’m sorry.’ She doesn’t say it.

“Holy shit,” Vanessa marvels at the entrance hall as they stop at the front desk.

A tall, well-built woman comes to the counter, smiling in recognition at Brooke. She doesn’t even look at her accomplice. 

“Good evening, miss Hytes, you have messages.” 

“Good evening, Nina. Just letting you know, I’ll be here for another week or so, and could I get some champagne and strawberries, please?” Brooke requests with a pleasant smile and her client voice. She typically dislikes attendants, but she has a soft spot for Nina, she’s never failed her in years of LA visits, always operating with kindness and honesty - something Brooke respects.

She tries to usher Vanessa up to the room with as little fuss as possible, but once the girl catches onto the fact people are less than pleased to see her, she gets a little incendiary.

_ “You know what's happened? I've got a runner in my pantyhose.” _

_ “Well, colour me happy! There's a sofa in here for two.” _

If Brooke was less embarrassed, she’d laugh.

*

“The penthouse?!”

Vanessa stands by the door, bouncing on her heels as she waits for Brooke to open it. “I miss keys,” she grumbles as she fumbles with the key card, a little embarrassed, but too tired to really care. The second the door opens, Vanessa rushes in, although she quickly slows down to admire the room. It’s large, spacious, with a living/dining room, and a bedroom visible through a large doorway. It feels ornate. She feels out of place. 

“Impressed?” Brooke smiles as she asks, hears her voice carry a little into the room. 

“You kidding, I come here all the time,” Vanessa replies in jest. “As a matter of fact, they do rent the room out.”

“Uhuh.” Brooke sets her things down on the floor by the door, takes her hair out of the ponytail it’s been straining in and shakes her head a little. She feels freer without the tension. 

Vanessa has already gone out onto the balcony, yelling, “This is so cool!,” at a volume Brooke is pretty sure the neighbours could hear. “I bet you could see the ocean from here,” she cries ecstatically, and Brooke has to smile.

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t go out there.”

The Latina's face is a picture of confusion as she pops her head back around through the door, staring at Brooke who is sat at the desk, reading the paper. “Why?” she questions, emphasising the ‘Y’ sound until it’s four syllables long. 

“I’m scared of heights.”

Vanessa almost screams with laughter, catching the irony pretty quickly. Once she settles down, she returns back inside, throwingherself onto one of the plush couches. 

“Well, now that you have me here, what are you going to do with me?” she asks innocently, although its undertones tread into dangerous waters. Brooke turns in her chair, papers on the table and elbows on her knees.

“Want to know something? I don't have a clue. I haven’t exactly planned this.” Brooke is a planner, likes to know what’s happening and when. She’s been known not to turn up to things if they’re announced on the day of, not to go places if she didn't know every detail. Every lawyer has a quirk, she supposes, and this might be hers.

“Well, do you plan everything?”

“Always.”

“I’m more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. You know, moment to moment.”

Brooke nods in understanding, can see that, and perhaps wishes she had a little more of it herself.

“You know, you could pay me,” Vanessa points out after a long, but comfortable silence. The two appear to relax around each other, nothing is uncomfortable (although that may just be Vanessa’s brash confidence).

Brooke shuffles a fifty out of her briefcase and hands it to Vanessa. She doesn’t watch where she puts it, but when she looks up the girl is holding out a wad of condoms and dental dams, and the Canadian is only slightly confused.

“Pick one. I got red, I got green, I got yellow. I'm out of purple, but I do have one gold circle coin left.”

She vaguely points to the gold one, non-committal and with a twinge of dread.

“The condom of champions. The one and only. Nothing is gettin' through this sucker.”

“A buffet of safety,” Brooke teases Vanessa.

“What can I say, I'm a safety girl.” She says it with a wink and Brooke has to laugh, because she’s spent the evening not laughing at so many jokes, and the ice is well and truly broken.

When the girl comes closer to her with the condom though, she recoils a little, asks if they can just talk instead. It’s not that she doesn’t want to have sex with Vanessa (although at this moment in time she isn’t quite sure), she just knows she doesn’t want to have to pay for it.

The smaller girl looks even smaller sunk into the couch. It swallows her almost as much as the blazer she’s still wearing, and it’s rather sweet.

“Business or pleasure then?” she asks, her chin propped up on the back of the couch.

“Business, I think?” responds Brooke, hesitant.

“Hmmm, that would make you… A lawyer!”

Brooke raises an eyebrow, hopes her face hasn’t given much away.

“What makes you think I'm a lawyer?” 

“You've got that, um… sharp, useless look about you.”

Brooke chuckles, “I bet you've known a lot of lawyers.”

“I've known a lot of everybody.”

*

A little while later, the doorbell rings and Vanessa wrestles herself out of the blanket cocoon she’s created to answer it. Somewhere through their talking, Brooke had forgot what the girl was wearing, so when she stands up, she feels a pang of empathy for the room service guy who’s about to come in. She recognises the girl, Courtney, she thinks, and she’s grateful for the efficiency - managing to be in and out within seconds. 

It turns out Vanessa has little care for strawberries and champagne.

“Look, I appreciate the little seduction thing you’ve got going on, but I’m on an hourly rate,” she moans as Brooke explains the reasoning behind the strawberries.

“Time really seems to be a problem with you,” responds Brooke, a little sharper than she may have intended. “Just stay here.”

Vanessa clicks her tongue, considering it a little. She doesn’t have anywhere else to be, but still can’t help the niggling feeling that she should leave.

“You couldn’t afford me.”

“Try me.”

It’s a challenge of sorts, neither can tell if they’re imagining the flirtation.

“Three hundred dollars.”

“Done.” Brooke places the money on the table easily, as if the amount means nothing to her (it doesn’t). 

“So, what do you want me to do?”

_ Everything. _

“I don’t know.”

*

Vanessa is in the bathroom when Brooke comes in. She’s just got her floss out of her bag, but she hides it when the taller woman arrives, feels it’s a little childish. Brooke notices she’s got something in her hand and she assumes the worst - she always does. 

“What’s in your hand? What are you hiding?” she asks, and her voice is more forceful than usual, lower and heavier, and it scares Vanessa a heck of a lot more than it probably should.

“Nothing,” she defends, but her voice seems weak and feeble in comparison.

“Look, I don’t want drugs in here, get your things and leave, please.” And even though Brooke seems like it pains her to do this, the suggestion makes Vanessa angry.

“I stopped doing drugs when, when - “

She stops and holds out her hand, opening it to allow Brooke to see the dental floss. Where she rose her voice, she feels a dead weight in the air. The silence thick like molasses.

“I had all those strawberry seeds. And you shouldn't neglect your gums.”

Brooke looks ashamed, maybe a little fearful of Vanessa’s reaction, and she should be, but neither has the heart to argue.

“You know, very few people surprise me,” she says thoughtfully. 

Vanessa tilts her head. “Yeah, well, you're lucky. Most of 'em shock the hell outta me.”


	2. chapter 2. first things first imma say all the words inside my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You okay?” Vanessa mouths, a difficult feat as she tries to chew a chocolate strawberry. Brooke finds it endearing and she nods tiredly, rolling her eyes as the man on the other end of the line yells about business numbers in Japan - she knows exactly what he’s talking about, but finds more joy in being a little bit difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Hi! Welcome back to Pretty Woman branjie style - in chapter one we saw our leading ladies meet each other - who knows what they’ll get up to this time. Special thanks to Frey and Linda (Qtip) for always being my heros/betas/favourite people and Meggie for being my grammar hero Let me know what you think and Enjoy!

Vanessa is lying on the floor, eyes transfixed on the show on the screen, when Brooke's phone goes off. She shoots the Canadian a glare, far too comfortable in the penthouse now to take anyone interrupting 'The Office', and to be honest, Brooke almost understands - almost. She’d put on the series to try and smooth over any tension from the bathroom incident and for the most part, it seems to be working, the Latina sprawled over the expensive rug, head propped up on her hands, and mini-bar snacks left forgotten as she laughs and awws at every movement on-screen. It’s Brookes favourite show and it makes her a little fluffy inside to know that Vanessa likes it too (not that anyone needs to know that, she is an ice queen, she cannot let that façade drop).

She has to pull her eyes away from the girl, as the man on the other end of the phone demand for her to read a case file that’s about sixty cases away from being important right now. She sighs, pulls herself into a more upright position and tries to mediate the call with snippets of information she’s sure any idiot could find if they read the file instead of asking her to do the work for them. 

“You okay?” Vanessa mouths, a difficult feat as she tries to chew a chocolate strawberry. Brooke finds it endearing and she nods tiredly, rolling her eyes as the man on the other end of the line yells about business numbers in Japan - she knows exactly what he’s talking about, but finds more joy in being a little bit difficult.

“You?” she mouths back, an eyebrow raised at how at home Vanessa has made herself. 

The girl smirks, “Carpet picnic,” she replies as if that answered the question. It didn’t.

The sigh of relief Brooke lets out when the call ends is audible, and it makes Vanessa giggle a little bit. She visibly relaxes into the armchair, lets the cushions absorb the leftover stress. 

“You want a drink?” the brunette chuckles as she watches the other woman rake a hand through her hair, flipping the parting until the blonde strands cascade over her left shoulder.

“I’m high on life, can’t you tell?”

*

Vanessa’s laughing and,  _ god _ , if it isn’t the sweetest damn noise Brooke has heard in a while. She moves chairs to be a little closer, a soft smile on her face, as she watches the girl. Vanessa must feel her eyes and mutes the audio, looking at her with a tilted head. Brooke makes the mistake of poking her tongue out, letting it wet her lips, because suddenly they’re dry as a bone. 

The shorter girl pushes herself up from the carpet and crawls slowly towards the chair, holding onto the arms when the reaches it. She gently runs a hand up one of Brooke's legs, the woman tensing at the feeling of cold hands on her warm flesh. She allows Vanessa to manoeuvre her, wonders where this is going, although she has a vague idea by the girl's heavy-lidded eyes and quiet smile. The girl removes her skirt and bodysuit slowly, teasingly - allows Brooke to focus on every inch of skin for a second or two before another is unveiled. She’s good at her job, there’s no question about it. She’s wearing a matching red lace bra and panty set, and the way it hides a little too much, but still absolutely nothing starts to drive Brooke wild. 

Vanessa leans forward, breath warm and heavy on Brooke’s neck as she unbuttons the silk work shirt that the Canadian is oh so fond of. She feels the lace of the bra grazing her lower abdomen as the girl pauses.

“What do you want?”

“What do you do?”

“Everything.” She smiles seductively, places a small kiss on Brooke's left breast before moving, so her face is an inch away from Brooke's. “But I don't kiss on the mouth.”

Brooke smiles - confident, not cocky. “Neither do I.”

As Vanessa leaves a trail of hot, lip-gloss kisses down her torso, Brooke leans back on the chair, relaxing into the feeling. She is good at her job.

*

Brooke showers to wash off the feeling of dread that encompassed her the second she realised that she’d paid for sex. She’s not ashamed, she doesn’t have anything against sex workers, not at all, she just hates that she paid for something with someone she actually likes. Maybe. She’s trying not to think too hard about the girl asleep in her bed - knows that this is a hole she really can’t afford to dig herself into right now.

After being pummeled with scalding water for twenty minutes, she decides she’s clean of her various sins and wraps herself in a fluffy hotel towel, letting her long, wet hair fall down her back. She’s just checking her phones when she notices a mop of blonde hair on a lamp. Brooke smiles to herself, clocking what’s happened with a quiet laugh. She paces around the corner to the bed, and her heart grows in size when she sees the short girl, curled up topless, surrounded by a halo of dark chocolate hair. The blonde suited her, the angled bob giving her face a more chiselled look, but this - it looks right. She looks younger and more innocent - gone is any power she may have held in the thigh highs and the wig - this is the real Vanessa.

Brooke clambers into bed as smoothly as she can, trying not to disturb the sleeping woman beside her. She flips, so she’s not facing her, and tries to fall asleep (definitely ignoring the way the smell of girl's coconut shampoo fills her with a heavenly feeling).

*

Brooke’s taking a call when Vanessa wakes up. The blonde is sat at the table, body covered in a black silk robe, and hair cascading down her back. She’s got a coffee in one hand, a phone in the other, and her half of the table is covered in books, files, and the remnants of salmon, avocado and egg on toast left unfinished on a plate in front of her. 

“I’ll meet Shuga for dinner tonight, it’s fine,” she says, low and full of conviction.

“Brooke, I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to meet her alone. It could go really wrong,” comes the voice down the line, he sounds vaguely worried, although anyone could tell that he's not worried for Brooke. 

The Canadian makes a humming noise, sips her coffee and pauses for a second, a mock consideration.

“Well, you know, there's always a possibility things are gonna go wrong. That's why I enjoy this so much.” She purses her lips and waits for a response, which doesn’t seem to be coming.

“Oh, by the way, Ru, about your car.”

_ “Oh, god. What? _ ” She chuckles at the reaction she gets, can imagine Ru’s fear over his precious car.

“It corners like it's on rails.”

Ru promises to make the dinner plans as soon as Brooke promises not to go alone - it’s a deal that will benefit them both and they both know it.

Brooke's call finishes just as the shorter girl walks around the corner, and she watches as the Canadian visibly changes from ’work Brooke’ to ‘relaxed Brooke.’ She watches the way her shoulders loosen up and she clings to her coffee with a little less aggression.

The blonde looks up, smiles a warm, comforting smile and gestures for her to sit down. 

“Brown?” she asks in reference to her hair, eyebrow raised comically.

Vanessa nods uncomfortably but is quickly put at ease by how soft the taller woman is acting. There’s something quietly powerful about this Brooke, and she feels privileged to be able to witness it.

Brooke once again gestures to the spread of food taking up the not-case-covered side of the table.

“Are you hungry? You must be. Why don't you sit and have something to eat? I, uh, took the liberty of ordering everything on the menu. I didn't know what you'd like.”

Brooke rambles uncontrollably and Vanessa finds it endearing as she sits down, grabbing a danish pastry. She takes a bite before emptying six sugar packets and a tub of creamer into the black coffee waiting for her. When she sips it, she looks up to see the taller woman with a slightly disgusted look and almost snorts into the drink. 

“Oh, she’s a black coffee girl?” teases Vanessa and Brooke just laughs, feels the bitter taste on her tongue melt into something sweeter.

“So, did you sleep well last night then, Brooke Lynn?” the girl questions, mouth half-full of dough and eyes full of mirth.

She smiles, wipes a drop of coffee from the edge of her cup, before making a face indicative of a little sleep - not enough to feel rested.

“You don't sleep, you don't do drugs, you don't drink, you hardly eat.” Vanessa reels off - still with a joking tone. “What do you do, Brooke? 'Cause I still ain’t sure.”

Brooke swivels in her seat to face the girl, eyes a little harder than they were a second ago and coffee left on the table. “I’m a corporate lawyer,” she answers, an air of finality in her words. Vanessa tilts her head quizzically.

“Which means…”

“I help companies buy other companies, mergers, finances, stocks - that shit.”

Whatever cloud took over the Canadian, it appears to leave when a cocky grin spreads across the Latina’s face. “I was right!” she exclaims, bouncing a little in her seat, and Brooke is inclined to attribute it to the ridiculous amount of sugar she’s piled into the coffee. 

“What kind of companies?” she asks after a short pause - choosing to pile more pastry into her mouth as Brooke sips on a protein shake the waiter brought in.

“Uh, I buy companies that are in financial difficulties.”

“If they have problems, you must get 'em for a bargain, huh?”

Brooke didn’t expect her to be so interested - even her mother won’t listen to her talk about work at family dinners - speaking of, she should really call her. She adds it to her list of things to do, below  _ ‘find this protein shake recipe’, _ but above  _ ‘learn how to use twitter’ _ . She almost feels bad, but she doesn’t.

“Well, the company I'm helping someone buy this week, I'm trying to get it for the bargain price of about one billion.”

Vanessa looks a little starstruck., “A billion dollars?” she asks, mouth opened in a mix of excitement and shock. She doesn’t quite understand how anything can be worth so much, never mind how the woman in front of her - looking awfully disarming at this point in time - could do that.

“Wow. You must be really smart, huh?”

Brooke chuckles in response, it’s warm and melodic, and reminds Vanessa of a Tampa beach. They both stand up, moving away from the table and Brooke walks into the bedroom. She half closes the door, and so Vanessa just waits outside - she doesn’t want to intrude.

“I only got through the eleventh grade,” she says, wistfully. “How far did you go in school?”

“All the way through, law school and everything.” It’s muffled, and then Brooke walks back out - wearing burgundy slacks, a crisp white button-down and a matching blazer. She has a tie dangling around her neck and curses lightly as she tries to fasten all the buttons.

“Your folks must be really proud, huh?” She watches as Brooke clamps up again, feels like she hit a nerve - knows she did. Brooke sighs and Vanessa moves on.

“So what do you do with the companies once you buy them?”

“I sell them.” She struggles with the tie and after redoing it twice, Vanessa beckons to her.

“Let me do it,” she requests, although they both know she’s not asking. “So you sell them,” she leads on, tries to distract herself from how close they are, how she can feel Brooke’s hot breath on the top of her head.

“Well, I - I don't help sell the whole company; I break it up into pieces, and then sell that off - it's worth more that way.”

“So it's sort of like, um, stealing cars and selling 'em for the parts, right?” She sticks her tongue out in concentration - remembers tying ties on her brothers back in Florida.

Brooke exhales a laugh, but it comes out a little more breathy than she would have liked. “Uhuh, but more legal,” she replies.

She pats the tie when it’s done, a strange look of adoration in her eyes. Brooke smiles - she wants to ask where Vanessa learned to do that - it’s fascinating to her how multifaceted this girl is. 

“Mind if I take a swim in your tub before I go?” she asks, hopeful - and who’s Brooke to deny that?

“Stay in the shallow end,” she banters back before slipping on her heels and running to her now ringing phone. Ru’s on the other end and she curses herself for getting so caught up in, in - she catches herself before she can think of an end to that thought. She answers the phone.

“Hello? Look, Ru, I’m just running out the door.”

“I just wanted to let you know, Shuga is all set for tonight.” Brooke lets out a sigh of relief she didn’t know she was holding, but immediately regrets it.

“She’s bringing her protegee, the one she’s grooming to take over.”

“Ah, yes,” She knows who Ru is talking about - can’t tell if she’s happy or scared by the information. “Very intense young woman named Yvie. She plays polo.”

“Look, I gotta say this again. I don't like you goin' alone,” reminds Ru, the tone is a warning, but the sentiment is more concern. Brooke would be grateful if she really cared what he thought, if his words didn’t feel a little like paper cuts rather than constructive notes.

Brooke ponders this for a second, unsure of the path to take. She wants to tell him she’ll be fine on her own - because she would be, her mama didn’t raise someone who was scared of a woman who plays polo - but she understands that strategy dictates she take backup. You don’t bring a knife to a gunfight, and Yvie is a gun ready to go off. 

In the midst of this, she hears a woman's voice, softly (but very enthusiastically) singing. It’s coming from the bathroom, and whilst conceding to Ru over the phone, she moves to stand in the doorway. Vanessa is having the time of her life in the bath - eyes closed like she’s in a spa or on a beach somewhere - Brooke assumes she probably thinks she is. The song becomes more obvious as she reaches the chorus and begins to sing (if you can call that singing) Janelle Monae at the top of her lungs. 

_ It's like I'm powerful with a little bit of tender _

_ An emotional, sexual bender _

Brooke has to stop herself from bursting into laughter down the phone, as her boss witters on about procedures and other things that she's memorised way before now. She’s too focused on the brunette in her bath to really give a damn.

“Who is that?” asks Ru down the line, and it takes Brooke a heck of a lot of restraint not to say anything incriminating. 

“My waiter is singing,” she replies, hopes he can’t tell how she’s smiling.

_ That's just the way you make me feel _

“Look, Ru - I know a lot of nice girls,” she says, looking straight at Vanessa, who still hasn’t noticed she’s not alone.

“No, you don’t.”

She sighs, runs a hand through her hair that she’d left out of a restrictive bun today.

“You just concentrate on finding out what Cain is up to. I'm on my way.” She hangs up.

Moving back over towards the shorter girl, she taps on her shoulder (the one not submerged in enough bubbles to entertain an entire kindergarten).

“ _ That’s just the way - _ “ Vanessa stops with a start, slowly removes the headphones from her ears and tries to regain any of the dignity she's just lost. “Don’t you just love Monae,” she quips.

“More than life itself,” Brooke deadpans back, pulling over a chair, so she doesn’t have to kneel in the trousers she’s wearing.

“Don’t you knock?”

“Vanessa,” Brooke starts - calm and coolly confident. “I have a business proposition for you.”

The girl sits up in her bath, bubbles barely conserving her modesty, and Brooke feels like she’s invading some sort of privacy, even though the girl made her forget her own name with just her mouth last night.

“I’m going to be in town until Sunday, and I’d like you to spend the week with me.” 

There is no wobble in her voice that suggests uncertainty, she is collected and knows what she’s doing - this is Lawyer Brooke, there is no doubt.

“Really?” The other girl squeals in excitement and the blonde laughs with her.

“Yes, I'd like to hire you as an employee, would you - would you consider spending the week with me?” She laughs again to try and hide some of the awkwardness she is feeling. “I will pay you to be at my beck and call.”

“Look, I'd love to be your ‘beck and call girl’.” Vanessa smirks as she teases. “But you're a rich, good-lookin' gal, I’m sure you could get a million girls free.”

“I want a professional,” she replies simply. “I don’t need any romantic hassles this week.”

“If you're talkin' 24 hours a day, it's gonna cost you,” the brunette bites back (there’s no sharpness behind it).

“Oh, yes, of course!”

“All right, here we go.”

“Give me a ballpark figure. How much?” Brooke would pay anything - money isn’t an issue here, but she likes the dynamic they have going. 

“Six full nights, days too. - Four thousand.”

The Canadian raises an eyebrow at her boldness, she’s impressed, but she’d rather not show it. “Three hundred times six is eighteen hundred.”

“Well, you want days too.”

“Two thousand,” she raises.

“Three thousand.” Brooke gives in there, they could continue all day, but there’s no real point.

“Done.”

“Holy shit!” Vanessa exclaims, smiling at her like she hung the stars in the sky - she lets out a loud whoop before sinking under the bubbles. The other woman just laughs.


	3. chapter 3. say something before I go crazy now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Write it down.” She knows the other woman well enough to say that she wouldn't know her right from her left if the goddamn GPS didn’t tell her that. “Are you writing it down? You'll forget it. Write it down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Hello, How are you?! Welcome back to Pretty Woman branjie style - in chapter two we saw our ladies strike up a deal but who knows what Vanessa will say… Thanks to Frey, Meggie and Linda for always being my heros/betas/favourite people, I don’t know what I’d do without you. Let me know what you think and Enjoy!

Brooke stares at the bath, anticipation building in her chest, climbing it’s way up her throat as the other woman bobs under the mountain of bubbles. She’s not scared that she has drowned - that would give away too much, but is she cautious? A little.

“Vanessa?” she calls out, unsure if the girl can hear her under the water.

“Vanessa, is that a yes?”

She slides back up the bath ceremoniously, grin plastered across her face as she spits out the bathwater that made it into her nose and mouth.

“Yes!” she cries, laughing at the slightly shocked look on Brooke’s face, and cracking up even more at the glare she earns from splattering bubbles onto the woman’s blazer.

*

Once she’s (less than gracefully) clambered out of the tub and wrapped herself in, what she presumes is, a very expensive towel, she joins Brooke in the lounge area. The Canadian is sat in a way that is preventing her pant suit from becoming creased, reading the paper and smiling to herself. It’s a little disarming, if she’s being honest. The blonde quickly fixes her with a stare though, gesturing for the brunette to take a seat next to her.

“I'll be gone for most of the day. I want you to buy some clothes,” she says, no introduction or small talk. Vanessa nods dumbly as she is handed a wad of cash. She giggles.

“You should really think about traveller's cheques,” she mumbles flicking the paper through her fingers, enjoying the smooth feeling of two thousand dollars as she holds it in her hand.

“We may be going out evenings, you’ll need something to wear.” She pauses, waits for Vanessa to confirm she understands, before standing up and continuing to talk.

“Like what?”

“Uh, nothing too flashy.” She gives the girl a once over. “Not too sexy. Conservative. You understand?”

“Boring, then?” the brunette responds, tongue in cheek, leaning against the wall.

“Elegant. Any questions?”

Vanessa pauses, flicks the money against her palm again, before a smile works its way onto her face.

“Can I…” she starts, eyeing Brooke closely to see her reaction. “Can I call you Brookie?”

“Not if you want me to respond,” comes the blonde's reply, although a small smirk appears against her will, breaking the demeanour she was trying to maintain. She turns to leave, but Vanessa grabs her arm as she goes.

“I would have stayed for two thousand,” she says lightly - as if it doesn’t carry half the weight that it does - as if it doesn’t tell Brooke that the girl has gotten herself in way too deep already.

“I would have paid four,” she smiles, almost coy. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Vanessa raises an eyebrow as she watches the woman leave. 

“Oh baby, I’m gonna treat you so nice, you won’t want to let me go.” Brooke halts at the door, arm on the frame and a briefcase in hand. 

“Three thousand for six days. And, Vanessa, I will let you go.” It feels like a paperweight, heavy in her stomach as she hears this.

Without another word, a wave or a wink - the blonde is gone.

*

The second Brooke steps out of the door, the girl sets off running, sprinting down the long corridor and jumping onto the giant bed with a power she didn’t realise she had in her. She sinks into the foam like it was made just for her, melting to fit her every curve. She screams frantically for a second, the realisation of what she has just done taking over her entire body, until she is shaking with shock and euphoria. It feels like a perfect symphony playing just for her, every instrument there for her enjoyment and her enjoyment only - confident and loud. She yells the number a couple of times. A grandiose, ridiculous price of three thousand dollars- it’s all hers. And it comes with a smoking hot, boss-ass lesbian. She doesn’t think she’s ever known such money, never fathomed how a sum that big would feel, and it’s overwhelming. She needs to call Silky.

“Big Silk with the good milk!” Vanessa hollers down the line, grinning as she says it. She hears a small ‘whoop’ on the other end and it only widens her smile.

“I called and called bitch. Where were you last night?”

“Oh.” She pauses as she hears Katya yell something about protection in the background, rolling her eyes a little. 

“Where are you?” presses Silky.

“Oh, man. Are you ready for this? The woman - “

“The toupe whatever?”

“Coupé woman! Yes! I am in her hotel room and  _ holy shit _ . Her bathroom is bigger than fucking Trixie’s bar!” Silky hums for a second and Vanessa swears she can see the girl stub out a cigarette, even if she doesn’t hear it.

“Do I have to listen to that?” she grumbles lightheartedly.

“Silk, she wants me to stay the whole week. And you know what she's gonna give me? Guess. You'll never guess.” The brunette, who had been momentarily sat up, flops back down with a satisfied groan, listening to Silky slurp what is almost certainly a Big Gulp.

“Three thousand dollars.” 

“Bullshit!”

“I swear to god. And extra money to buy clothes.”

“Oh, man! I am bummed. I gave that girl to you!”

“You don’t even like women,” Vanessa points out indignantly.

“Yeah, but I like free food.” She’s about to point out that she never mentioned food, but knows it would just result in pointless bickering. “Three thousand. Really? ls she real perverted?” Silky almost whispers this, as if she had something to hide. The other girl's laughter bounces off the walls of the penthouse.

“No,” she hiccups out. 

“Ugly?” 

“She’s so hot, I swear.”

“Well, what's wrong with her?” 

“Nothing,” she sighs dreamily and Silky mocks retching across the line.

“Did she give you the money yet?” she enquires, and Vanessa quickly tells her that she’ll get it at the end of the week. “That's what's wrong with her,” states the other woman, definitely.

“Well, she gave me couple of ‘undred for last night. And, Silk? I'm gonna leave some at front desk for you. I want you to pick it up.” She pauses as she hears the woman move a little before continuing. “I'm at the Queen in Beverly,” before tacking on, “Write it down.” She knows the other woman well enough to say that she wouldn't know her right from her left if the goddamn GPS didn’t tell her that. “Are you writing it down? You'll forget it. Write it down.”

“Queen Bev,” mutters Silky under her breath, and Vanessa can hear the pencil scratching down the phone. 

“Oh, one more thing. Where do I go for clothes? None of that cheap bullshit, good stuff, on her.”

“In Beverly Hills?” 

“Yeah.”

“Rodeo Drive, baby.”

With a click, the line cuts off.


	4. chapter 4. listen to my voice it’s my disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell hath no fury like a Vanessa scorned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Welcome back to Pretty Woman branjie style - in chapter three, exciting shit went down and Vanessa was, well, excited. Thanks to Frey, Meggie and Linda for making sure this isn’t (that much of) a mess, I don’t know what I’d do without you. A little heads up, if you have a problem with the way I write my movie AU - don’t read it. Let me know what you guys think and Enjoy!

Vanessa, redressed in her trusty bodysuit and skirt, skips down to the lobby with a smile. She nods at Courtney - the bellhop even saying a quick ‘hello’ - which, upon hearing her name, leaves the girl blushing and shy. She smiles to herself as she enters the main foyer, glad she’s made someone's day. She brushes off any weird looks she gets as she approaches the desk. “Hey.”

“Yes, ma'am. May I help you?”

“Yeah, so I'm leaving this here for a girl called Silky. She gonna pick it up sometime soon.” The woman at the desk goes to open the envelope she’s been handed and Vanessa puts on her unhappy face. “Don't open that,” she says, quiet but nonetheless controlled. 

“No, ma'am.”

She nods and exits the hotel, face returned to its natural smile.

*

“Miss Versace, do you know that lady?” asks Nina, curious as she watches a remarkably underdressed woman exit the hotel.

“No, ma’am.”

The taller woman raises her eyebrow as she watches the girl walk out. She’s intrigued.

*

The cool aircon of the shop is a nice reprieve from the baking California heat, and she takes a second to readjust her skirt as she steps in. The store is all cream and rose gold, truly a designer boutique, and she wonders momentarily how Silky knew about it. It doesn't really feel like her style. She must look confused, she thinks, as a saleswoman approaches her rapidly with a concerned look on her face. Vanessa smiles widely at her - a sort of ‘I’m okay’ sign, but the woman doesn’t seem to read it that way.

“May I help you, ma’am?” asks the woman, the same smile still on her face, but her voice is anything but warm. 

“I’m just checkin’ stuff out,” she replies, the same cheery aura continuing as she thumbs a pair of trousers that already look like they cost a month’s earnings. She pats her pocket to check that the two thousand dollars are safely there, sighing when she realises they are.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“No. Well, yeah. Something a little…” She wracks her brain for the word Brooke had used to describe it that morning, getting stuck on the blonde’s face for a second. “Conservative,” she declares.

“Yes,” the woman responds cooly.

“You got nice stuff in here.” Vanessa runs a hand down a skirt that would be too long for her but would look sinful on Brooke. She checks the price tag and is tempted to drop a couple of hundred on it just to be able to watch the woman model it. God.

“Thank you.”

“How much is this?” She fixates on a gorgeous pair of plaid trousers, imagines it with a black blouse and dies a little at the fantasy.

“I don't think this would fit you.”

“Well, I didn't ask if it would fit. I asked how much it was,” she bites back, the woman's tone grating on her.

“How much is this, Carson?” The blonde turns to a man stood at the desk.

“It's very expensive,” he drawls, looking bored as he stares at the rack of Chanel across from him.

“Look, I got money,” she sighs, pulling out a fistful of twenty-dollar bills as the woman stares at her.

“I don't think we have anything for you.”

“You're obviously in the wrong place,” adds the man, Carson, with a sickly customer service smile, that makes Vanessa want to just slap the botox right out of his face.

“Please, leave.”

Vanessa scowls, chocolate eyes a sudden thunderstorm as she glares both of them down. As much as she is trying to be polite for Brooke's sake, she can’t help but storm out - angry as hell at the people who thought that they could judge her based on what she was wearing and, without a doubt, her skin tone too. She wants to cry, but the anger has burned away all her tears.

*

Hell hath no fury like a Vanessa scorned, and as she paces back into the hotel, she’s pretty sure people are more wary of her anger than her profession. She gets to the elevator before she is stopped by- by. She cannot remember her name, but the woman is watching her like a cat watching a mouse scurry around. There is a warmth in her eyes though, a motherly nature she cannot seem to suppress as she raises an eyebrow. 

“Excuse me, miss, may I help you?“ she asks politely.

“I'm going to my room.” Vanessa tries to dodge around the woman, but she reaches out an arm to block her. She stands there like a petulant child, pouting.

“Uh, do you have a key?” 

"Crap! That cardboard thingy, it’s here…” She pats herself down twice before giving up. “I must have left it up there. I'm on the top floor, penthouse, I think.”

“You're a guest here?” She looks surprised and Vanessa wants to feel offended, she also wants to remind the woman that they met yesterday, but she is still stumped on the name. She appears to be the only person in the hotel not wearing a name tag.

“I'm with a friend, I-” 

“And who would that be?”

“Brooke. Brooke Lynn.”

“Brooke Lynn?”

Vanessa has the urge to try and describe her, but she’s not sure she could get past ‘tall, hot and insanely attractive’ before giving in. The elevator behind the lady dings and Courtney steps out of it looking exhausted. “SHE KNOWS ME!” 

The other woman sighs and turns to the shorter girl. “Conquers, did you just come off the night shift?”

“Yes, Nina.” (Nina is her name. Vanessa feels triumphant.)

“Do you know this young lady?”

“She's with Ms Hytes in the penthouse.”

“THAT’S IT!” She clamps her hand over her mouth with a squeak. “That’s it, Brooke Lynn Hytes - thanks Court!”

The girl smiles awkwardly before nipping into the ‘staff only’ corridor.

Nina watches after her, eyes lingering for a second with a warmth - like a mother watching over her daughter. Vanessa admires this, appreciates the facets of the woman's personality already and can only hope that she will be on the warmer end. When she turns back around, the shorter girl suddenly feels she might not be so lucky.

“I think you need to come with me,” Nina says, firm but fair in her tone as she turns on her heels and pushes through the same ‘staff only' door Courtney had disappeared behind. She leads them into the office marked ‘Nina West’ and gestures for Vanessa to take a seat in one of the oversized armchairs taking up half the floor space. She sinks into it like a giant marshmallow, feet dangling just above the ground due to her short stature. In her chair, Nina’s feet are planted firmly on the ground. “What’s your name then?” she asks, kindly.

“What do you want it to be?” responds the other woman, trying to diffuse the situation with comedy - it falls flat.

“Don't play with me, young lady,” comes the reply, and it’s harsher than she anticipated. Vanessa inhales sharply, feeling like she’s back at school all over again (way too familiar with trips to the headteacher’s office).

“Vanessa.”

“Thank you, Vanessa.” The way her voice snapped back into amiable and welcoming is, frankly, impressive, and Nina smiles at her to try and lighten the mood a little. She sighs, brushes invisible crumbs off her pencil skirt before continuing. “Well, Miss Vivian- I mean, miss Vanessa. This is not the sort of hotel you seem to think it is. We don’t do things like other hotels.” The shorter girl hums noncommittally, twisting a silver ring around her thumb.

“Now, Ms Hytes, however, is a very special customer.” Pause for emphasis. “And we like to think of our special customers as friends. As a customer, we would expect Ms. Hytes to sign in any additional guests.” She checks Vanessa is still following with a head tilt. ”But as a friend, we're willing to overlook it. Now, I'm assuming that you're a...” The girl is suddenly very onboard, sitting bolt upright (or as much as she can be when the soft fabric is swallowing her whole). 

“Relative?”

“Yes, I thought so, you must be her...”

“Cousin?” she bolsters, biting back a smile.

“Of course. Naturally, when Ms Hytes leaves, I won't see you in this hotel again. I assume you have no other cousins here.” Vanessa shakes her head dumbly, feeling rather out of her depth in the conversation as she is pulled along for the ride. She is definitely not Brooke’s cousin (that would make the previous night very illegal), but she understands that there must be some merit in the lie. A silver lining. “Good! Then we understand each other. I would also encourage you…” She appears unable to find the right words, her brow creasing a little, “to dress a little more appropriately; that'll be all.”

Nina looks like she wants Vanessa to just comply and walk away, but all of the anger from the shop surges back through her veins like liquid courage, but with less of the after taste. 

“No,” she bursts out. “No, that's not all. That's - that’s what I was tryin’ to do. I swear I tried to go get a dress on Rodeo Drive today, and the stupid rich woman wouldn't help me.” She crosses her arms and huffs a little, once again reminiscent of a petulant child. “And I have all this money now and no clothes. I just wanted a dress!” she continues, lamenting about it while pulling out the handful of more than crumpled bills. “And it’s not that I expect you to help me, but I have all of this, okay? I was going to try.” The shift in Nina’s eyes is barely noticeable and Vanessa isn’t paying enough attention for it to register as she half shouts her problems. 

“I have to buy a dress for dinner tonight. And nobody will help me,” she adds, a little quieter. Nina picks up the phone on her desk and presses fewer buttons than Vanessa would like to have seen. She panics, launches forward in her seat to be closer to the woman.

“Oh, fuck, if you're callin' the cops, I swear to Jesus and all that shit my mama used to love. Yeah, call the cops. That's great. Fucking tell 'em I said hey.” Vanessa sinks back into the chair - it’s warm and feels comforting.

“Women's clothing.”

Vanessa doesn’t realise she started crying until Nina hands her a tissue, already talking on the phone.

“Plastique, please.”

She blows her nose loudly, and even the tissues feel expensive. 

“Yes, Plastique. Hello. This is Nina West here at the Queen Bever-” She chuckles down the line as Vanessa looks on quizzically. “Look, I’m going to send someone over, her name is Vanessa and she’s the cousin of a very special guest.”

When Nina meets Vanessa’s eyes, there’s a sparkle of hope in the blue abyss and the younger woman thinks she might have struck gold.

*

The atmosphere of this shop is completely different from the second she steps inside. While the last store felt like she’d walked into an ice machine, cold and frigid, this one almost smells like freshly baked cookies. Her shoulders immediately drop from where they were hovering by her ears in apprehension, and she is greeted by a small Asian woman with a kind smile and an aura of calmness.

“Hey, girl, you must be Vanessa. I’m Plastique.” She shakes her hand and it feels warm against Vanessa’s clammy palm.

“Yeah, hi. Nina said you'd be nice to me,” she replies causing the other woman to chuckle to herself as she guides them through the shop, stopping in front of a display of fancy-looking trousers. Vanessa can’t help but stroke across the rack, feeling the different materials under her fingers. 

“She's very sweet. What are your plans while you're in town?”

“We're gonna have dinner.” She moves to sit on a large white cube she assumes to be a chair. She is quickly proven wrong as Plastique grabs her arm with a bemused expression. 

“You're gonna go out? Dinner?” She reaffirms, and Vanessa hums in agreement. “Well, you'll need a cocktail dress then. Come with me.” She once again guides them to a back display full of gowns in all shapes and sizes. She gets Vanessa to stand on a sort of pedestal and walks around her for a second before grabbing out a few and placing them on a rack. “Now, I'm sure we're gonna find something here that your cousin will love - You're a size six, right?“

“Yeah. How'd you know that?” Vanessa asks in confusion as she stands awkwardly, hands swinging as she shifts from foot to foot.

“That’s my job,” Plastique replies with a wink.

“You know, Plastique, she’s not really my cousin.”

“They never are, sis.”

*

Brooke finishes her presentation with a flourish, explaining everything that had led to her victory in court to a room of exasperated looking men. She brushes down her jacket as she looks around, takes in the furrowed brows and tensed jaws - something that she has always appreciated. It’s the mark of a confused man, albeit one of whom is unhappy to admit it, and she relishes in the sight. They mutter to themselves as she packs the case files into her briefcase, each meticulously organised to be filled when she returns to her home office, it brings a smile to her face as she feels she has truly finished the case. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d done it.

As she goes to leave, RuPaul catches her arm and in a hushed whisper asks, “Listen, everything all set for the meeting tonight?” Brooke’s only response is a quiet smile and a hum, but the smile lets on more than she could ever know, and RuPaul sees through it. She looks a little like the cat who got the cream, except she got a gorgeous Latina who she has spent an infuriating amount of time thinking about, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t concern her just a little bit.

“Who?” he presses, “who is this girl you're going with?” And Brooke gives a slight wink as she starts to exit the room. 

“Nobody you’d know.”

If she spends the elevator ride wondering what else she could have been doing in that time (many things that one should not discuss in an office) - no one has to know.

*

Apparently choosing the right dress takes hours and multiple try-ons (not that Vanessa realised that), because by the time she finishes the air outside is cooler and less stuffy. It feels more like a fridge than a sauna and she’s grateful for it.

She makes it back to the hotel with a very disgruntled Uber driver, who takes one look at her bags and makes a noise she’s only ever heard in response to rich white ladies with no jobs. Vanessa can’t decide if she feels flattered or disconcerted.

She bustles through the door hurriedly, half running as she spots Nina across the room, talking to a short Asian man in red who's gesticulating wildly. 

“Nina!” she shouts before realising it’s an inappropriateness and adding a quick “Sorry, mister,” in commiseration to the man who mutters something angrily before leaving the two women alone. Once she’s sure he is out of earshot and has dealt with an irked look from Nina, Vanessa reaches into one of her bags and pulls out a bundle of burgundy fabric. “I got a dress!”

“Well, I rather hoped you’d be wearing it, to be honest, Vanessa,” Nina replies with a slight nod to the girl’s attire, which is still getting looks from customers as one of her thigh highs is slightly undone. She drops the bags ceremoniously and bends over to refasten it which only makes Nina bring a hand to her face, somewhere between bemused and embarrassed. 

“Oh no, I didn’t wanna mess it up! I got shoes too, wanna see?” She picks the paper bag up and reaches an arm back inside before Nina shakes her head.

“No, that won't be necessary. I'm sure they're quite lovely. Thank you.”

“Look.” She swings the bag in her hand by her side, a little awkwardly, “I didn't mean to interrupt you, but Plastique was really good… and I just wanted to say thanks?” She says it like it’s a question, a habit picked up from a lifetime of judgemental figures and an affinity for pleasing people. “You're pretty cool.” 

“You're welcome, miss Vanessa. You’re pretty cool too.”

*

The door of the penthouse is barely closed when Vanessa hears the phone ringing, and she sprints as fast as she can to the desk, dropping the bags on the way. She slides into the chair on the fifth ring, picking it up with a breathy, “Hello?”

“Never, ever pick up the phone,” comes Brooke’s smooth voice down the line; it feels like melted butter and, even with the slightly stern tone, still brings a smile to the girl’s face. 

“Then why are you callin’ me?” she banters back.

“Did you buy clothes today?”

“I got a dress! A cocktail one!” And the change in her voice must be perceptible because the second she gets excited, Brooke chuckles.

“That's good.” The way the Canadian says it makes Vanessa think that it is genuinely good, and it only makes her smile wider. There are no false pretenses here. “I'll be in the hotel lobby, eight p.m. sharp.”

“What? You're not comin' up to the door?” she teases.

“This isn't a date. It's business.” Despite the cool tone, there is an audible smile.

“Where are you takin' me, anyway?” 

“I'm taking you to a restaurant called Santino’s,” Brooke responds before adding, “very elegant.” Vanessa twirls a strand of her hair around her finger as her smile softens at the phone. She watches the brown fleck gold in the warm sunlight pouring through the window. 

“What does it do?” 

“Lots of rice dishes.” 

“Like, Chinese?” Brooke chuckles again, to which Vanessa makes an indignant sound. “I'll meet you in the lobby, but only 'cause you're payin' me to.” She smirks a little as she says it, comfortable with the playful teasing they’ve got going on.

“Well, thank you very much,” Brooke replies before hanging up, and the shorter girl holds the phone to her chest for a second, sighing before putting it back down. She’s just about to go back to the bag before it rings again and, on impulse, she picks it up - answering with a smile.

“Hello?”

“I told you not to pick up the phone.” 

“Then stop callin' me!” She ends the call this time, but she cannot wait for eight. Then, she realises, she has no idea how to behave at an elegant dinner. She panics.


	5. chapter 5. i let the skeletons out and we dance through the halls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You thinking about dinner?” She asks, unsure of what to do at a certain point. She is realising there is only so long one can sit in silence before it becomes unbearably awkward - especially when you are no longer strangers.
> 
> Brooke hums non-committally and continues to stare blankly out of the window, transfixed by the nothingness of California.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Heya! Welcome back to Pretty Woman branjie style - in chapter four, Vanessa met Nina and Brooke bosses a presentation. Thanks to Frey, my rock, for fixing this up. Anyway, apologies for the wait. Let me know what you guys think and Enjoy!

She swears she has never run so fast in her life as she bolts down the twenty-something flights of stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator. By the bottom, she has flushed a light plum, chest heaving as she bends over coughing. She spits into a plant pot and hopes no one has noticed. Once she can breathe without feeling strangled, she straightens herself back up and (respectfully) speed walks over to where Nina is looking out over the foyer.

“Nina!” She shouts in a low register, trying to attract less attention this time around. The older woman turns sharply and raises an eyebrow at Vanessa’s state of post-athletic sweat. She purses her lips in lieu of a response. “I need your help.” Vanessa continues.

“It - It does fit you?” 

“Yes, yes, of course, like a glove and all that shit, that’s not the problem.” Nina tilts her head with a sigh - looking a little like a puppy who has been promised a walk, but has not received it - sort of unhappy and resentful at the same time.

“The problem is?” she leads on, maybe impatient, maybe just confused.

“How’d’ya be ‘fancy,’” she speaks quietly and uses air quotation marks in an attempt to convey the seriousness of the problem, but it doesn’t stop the other woman from bursting into harmonious laughter.

“Courtney, cover me,” Nina calls out before pulling Vanessa down a service corridor, still chuckling.

*

“All right, miss Vanessa, one more time.”

The girl rolls her shoulders and straightens her back - tries to imitate the posture her Abuela has been trying to enforce for years. She takes the cloth napkin off the plate and places it flat on her lap - to Nina's nods of approval - and then moves on to trying to use the correct cutlery.

“Elbows off the table! Don’t slouch.”

She pulls her elbows off the soft fabric immediately - back rod straight. “Well, fork.” Vanessa has always said that the mark of a good joke is that it makes yourself laugh and she’s glad that's her philosophy, because Nina looks a little like someone has just disrespected her family name and all it took was a bad cursing joke.

The older woman comes to stand behind Vanessa’s chair and points to three forks as she talks. “Shrimp fork, salad fork, dinner fork,” she rattles off with confidence and ease as if the forks do not look the exact same. “Work outside in as you eat and don’t ask.”

“Alright,” she hums a little nervously. “I think I got the salad one. The rest… didn’t go in.”

”Just count the tines!” replies Nina in a tone all too cheery for someone talking about table etiquette and Vanessa has to laugh.

“You tell your man this excites you?” she quips with a grin, but Nina just raises an eyebrow and smirks.

“Wife.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

*

Brooke stands awkwardly in the lobby, which is odd, because Brooke doesn't do awkward. It’s not that she’s necessarily opposed to the idea of it. She is just unable to be awkward in her usual getup of power-suits and power-heels. But tonight she is dressed in a black tux, white shirt, black bowtie and red Louboutins, and somehow she is awkward. She hovers for a second before making her way to the desk to call Vanessa. She is intercepted. 

“Pardon me, Ms Hytes”

“Uh-huh. Excuse me, I just want to make one call,” she replies slightly hurriedly, knowing it is almost eight. 

“Yes, um, ma’am.” Nina too sounds a little rushed and uncomfortable as she speaks, “I have a message for you.” She’s moving her weight from foot to foot on the ornate red rug - each shoe coming off slightly as she lifts it. She shifts the weight into her left hip as she finishes the conversation.

“From who?”

“From your cousin, ma’am.” 

Brooke chokes back a laugh of indignance as Nina says this - fiddling with her bowtie to keep her almost shaking hands busy. She’s not used to it - the almost shaking - and she wishes Nina would just hurry up. “My what?”

“The young lady who's staying with you in your room, ma’am."

She hums in response - starting to connect the dots. “I think we both know that she's not my cousin.” She smirks knowingly. Her eyes meet Nina’s before darting down to the wedding ring and back up. They imply that she knows of their shared sexuality (she does through a lot of time in the hotel bar). When Nina’s eyes meet hers again, they appear to concede.

“Of course.”

“The reason I know that, is that my parents are only children.”

“Yes.”

“What's the message?”

“She's waiting for you in the lounge.” Brooke’s ears perk up a little when she hears it - a small smile creeping onto her face as she realises Vanessa is ready and waiting. It takes a lot to not set off running - she supposes that could be a little too forward. “Intriguing young lady, miss Vanessa.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Nina gives a cursory smile before she leaves. “Have a good evening.”

*

Vanessa looks like a painting - scrap that. Vanessa looks like a goddess, and Brooke wants nothing more than to fall to her knees and worship her like she deserves. 

She has to flick her tongue out to wet her lips as the other girl descends the stairs - chocolate hair curled and cascading over her left shoulder. The dress is a flowy chiffon with a bardot neckline that exposes both caramel shoulders and collarbone, that the blonde wants to suck kisses across. 

“You’re late.”

Brooke has to laugh - the body of an angel and the voice of a frog that’s chewed gravel. Vanessa flutters her eyelashes and it’s like a spell.

“You're stunning.” Brooke gulps, eyes sweeping her once, twice, three times before meeting her eyes. “Burgundy?”

“You're forgiven - and yes, it means if I spill my wine, it ain’t gonna stain.” Vanessa’s mouth is dry and her hands are shaking, but Brooke holds out her own to lead the way and she puts her clammy palm on top, gripping like it’s her life. “I like the suit on you, baby.”

“Pet names? Really. Let’s try to keep some professionalism around Cain.”

“M'kay, honey.”

If Vanessa has visions of dragging Brooke by the bowtie - she doesn't mention them.

*

The car pulls up to the restaurant and Brooke lets out a heavy sigh. The exterior is just plain brick, but the signage screams expensive wine and seafood - it’s intimidating, and she’s surprised her counterpart looks so calm having never stepped inside such an establishment. Santino’s, it turns out, is a popular restaurant among the elite and even though Brooke knows this, she can’t help the anxiety working its way through her heart as she watches men in bespoke suits and tails saunter through the gabled entrance.

Vanessa looks calm. She is not. Brooke realises this as she opens the door of the car for her. She holds out a hand in aid of stepping out of the car and the girl's palms are slick with sweat - feet unsteady as she places them on the cobbled ground. 

“Shall we go to dinner?” Brooke asks with the faux confidence she is trying to convince herself she possesses, and Vanessa smiles softly - maybe humouring her, maybe not. 

A host comes out dressed in a crisp, white shirt and pressed black trousers. His belt buckle looks like it is regularly polished, and his shoes could reflect the light of the moon back to it. The entire ensemble makes Vanessa quiver as they follow him through the doorway and into the elegantly decorated bar area. It smells like old Hollywood sans cigarette smoke and she can only imagine that this is the true smell of money. She knows that a glass of cabernet would cost more than a month's rent and, not for the first time, she is glad she is not the one paying. Brooke squeezes her hand silently, and Vanessa squeezes back.

“Alright. Follow my lead, try not to speak and don’t fidget,” Brooke notes sternly as they approach the table. The shift in her attitude and behaviour is so quick they could have given Vanessa whiplash, and the girl tries to appear unfazed at the way she goes back to being dirt on the bottom of her shoe. 

On the round table nestled into the corner of the restaurant, so that people can have business meetings on topics they would rather not have public involvement in (nuclear protocols, presidential assassinations, the recalling of certain children's toys), sit two women. One is older, she looks demure and unassuming to the untrained eye, but if you look closely, the cufflinks on her shirt are worth more than the Gross Domestic Product of Tuvalu. The only thing that separates her from the millions of others in the world of business is her shock of lilac hair and the fact that Brooke starts to smile a little when they see each other. 

“Shuga,” Brooke calls out in what could almost be relief. “Shuga, this is Vanessa - Vanessa, Shuga Cain.”

They shake hands before Shuga turns to the lady sitting next to her to introduce her. The woman in question is tall and lithe, with big brown eyes and a buzzcut. “Ladies, this is my protege, Yvangeline Oddly.”

“Yvie Oddly at your service.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Brooke Lynn Hytes of Hytes and Partners in Canada, although you may know me better as one of RuPaul’s partners. This is a friend of mine, Vanessa Mateo.”

Yvie lacks the warmth of Shuga, and yet she feels like flames. Her energy is like that of a rocket about to go off, bouncing a little, and suddenly Vanessa is intimidated. She places her clutch down on her chair before excusing herself to the ladies' room for a second, hoping that maybe she can relax enough to at least enjoy the food. 

She spends no less than five minutes with her arms braced on the cool porcelain of the sink, inhaling the bergamot and lavender of the hand soap. When she looks in the mirror, she doesn’t see the same Vanjie that walked Olympic at night like she owned it. She doesn’t recognise herself and it’s disquieting to know that if she walked the same street tonight, she would get mugged dressed like this. She looks like she has more to lose and, in a way, she hates it. She wets the insides of her wrists with cold water and returns down the stairs to the table. 

“Ms. Hytes, we are of the belief that the people who create a company should control its destiny.” Yvie argues against a statement Vanessa did not hear. She is confused, but then again, none of the participants look convinced by their own arguments either, so she supposes it’s not the worst thing. 

“Where's the salad?” She asks innocently which garners a small chuckle out of Shuga, while Brooke seems all too involved in her discussion with Yvie to particularly care. 

“Uh, the salad comes at the end of the meal,” she says offhandedly. She doesn't look at Vanessa.

“That's the only fork I knew,” she whines, pouting a little in a way that is only bratty enough to get Brooke’s attention without sparking something that may not be appropriate at the dinner table. Shuga gives her the same sort of smile you would give a small child.

“I don't know about you, but I've never been able to figure which goes with what!” she jokes before pointing slightly to the correct utensils for fourchu lobster - a delicacy which has Vanessa moaning slightly as she puts it into her mouth. She stops pretty suddenly when she realises she is the only one who is actually eating, but Brooke nods for her to continue anyway. 

Yvie sighs, pushing her fork into the flesh of the lobster. “Let me put it another way.” She takes a second to think about her wording before continuing, “Between your public statements and the rumours flying around on this thing, we find it very hard to figure out what your real intentions are.” Brooke raises an eyebrow almost imperceptibly. “You know, there was a time when we used technology that hadn’t even been patented yet,” she continues, impervious to Brooke’s looks. Vanessa shifts in her seat as she sets down her cutlery, moving back to allow the hovering waiters to remove the empty plates (or in the case of Brooke and Yvie, mostly full).

“Women like my grandmother made this country, and I’m not about to see it all fall away due to some Canadian lawyer-“ Yvie is cut off by the second course being served up. 

Vanessa elbows Brooke under the table, “Who ordered this?” She asks confused as she pokes at the small blobs of meat drizzled in what she believes to be garlic sauce. 

Brooke gives her a curious look before whispering, “It’s a set menu. It’s escargot, snails.”

“Bitch, you’re trying to serve me snails!” She responds, incredulous as ever as Shuga and Yvie watch the exchange - happily eating their own meals. 

“Yes, Vanessa. Bon appétit.” Brooke is tight-lipped and clearly wishes to get back to the matter at hand. “Try it. Oddly?”

“Ms. Hytes- Brooke, if you were to get control - and I don't think you will - but if you did,” she pauses, contemplative as if to try and sell her point even further. “What do you plan to do with the company?”

“Break it up and sell off the pieces.”

“I'm sure you'll understand I'm not thrilled by the idea-” Shuga cuts in, placing both her knife and fork onto the plate demurely and tapping a napkin on either side of her mouth. She leans forward, “-of your turning years of my work into your garage sale.”

Brooke smiles - she understands, but she has no choice. “At the price I'm paying for this stock, Ms. Cain, you are going to be a very rich woman.” 

“I'm rich enough. I just want to head my legacy.” 

“Slippery little suckers!” comes Vanessa’s moan from her part of the table. She sighs and pouts, her fork rattling on the plate. Shuga chuckles a little before miming the correct way to eat a snail, Brooke watching in amusement. She feels a little like she’s babysitting, as herself and Yvie continue to shoot glares at each other across the table.

“I met your father,” Shuga states as she sips her wine, watching Vanessa eat a few more snails quietly, looking rather pleased with herself. “What's his name again?”

“Carsten,” Brooke states bluntly, knowing exactly where this is going before it starts.

“Yeah, Carsten Hytes. He's not quite the bastard everybody says he is.” She says it likes it’s supposed to be a compliment to the family. It doesn’t quite get there. Fortunately, Brooke is well aware of the perception of her father throughout the corporate world - millionaire business tycoon Carsten Hytes.

“No, I have the franchise on that.” She gives a polite laugh - equally aware of her own outward-facing persona. She gives Vanessa a warm look as she feels the girl's legs shift against hers under the table.

“Does that make him proud?”

“I doubt it. It doesn't really matter now. He passed away.” Her tone has changed and now even Vanessa bristles at it. She reaches over and places a hand on her clothed leg, rubs at it with her thumb in a sign of solidarity, and maybe a little more. Brooke gulps and takes a large swig of her wine, coughing as she sets the glass back down. She hates the way her palms feel sweaty.

“Oh, I hadn't heard. I'm sorry.” It should sound fake under the circumstances, but Shuga just isn’t that type of woman.

“I'm sorry, too,” adds Vanessa and Brooke wants to lean into the way her voice feels like velvet and warm caramel.

“Look, Shuga, you asked for this meeting. What can I do for you, truly?” Brooke tries to smile like she’s got no ill intent, but she just looks weary - the whole ordeal taking its toll. 

“Just leave my company alone, Hytes. Take your papers back to the buyers and tell them to leave.”

“I can’t. They own every share you have.” This time she must look empathetic because Shuga’s face softens to her. Yvie still looks like she has plans to wrestle a hammerhead shark after dinner. 

“We’ll buy them back!” She jumps in, chomping at the bit.

“You don’t have that kind of money.”

“We’ve got contracts in the making.”

“They’re all buried in the Appropriations Committee.” It feels like the sentence should be punctuated with hands on the table, but Brooke remains cooly seated - lacking the energy to throw arms.

“And how the hell did you pull something like that? You got dirty politicians in your pockets now or something?” She’s going red, seeing red, feeling red, and the heat is radiating across the table to Vanessa. She feels like the room is on fire and god knows she doesn’t want to be near Yvie when she explodes. 

“Easy, easy, calm down. Calm down, Yvangeline. Ms. Hytes plays hardball.” Shuga places a calming hand on the younger woman's forearm, sending Brooke an almost impressed look - just as invested in the two women's power struggle, as she is in getting her business back. 

“It’s not quite polo, but I play well.” She smirks.

“I've heard enough of this. Vanessa, it was a great pleasure to meet you.” Vanessa smiles warmly like she always does, and in that moment Brooke is jealous of how she can be so innocent in the proceedings, when Brooke’s hands have to be so dirty. “I'm sorry, Cain. I've gotta get some air. Ms Hytes.” Yvie gives Brooke a nod that reads somewhere between ‘good game’ and ‘meet me on the battlefield at midnight, bring your sharpest sword.’ She hopes her response reads just as strongly.

“I'd better join her. You two enjoy your dinner,” Shuga says, standing too and taking her jacket from a waiter who stands expectantly with her cane. She watches as Yvie lets the door of the restaurant slam behind her.

“I'm sure it'll be delicious. Good luck,” closes off Vanessa, standing with Brooke and looping her arm through the woman’s suited arm. She feels strangely at home in the situation.

“Watch out, Hytes. I'm gonna tear you apart,” says Shuga, parting advice with a smile and a wink. It’s a shame they have to dislike each other, Brooke ponders, she’s always thought of her like a grandmother.

“I look forward to it, ma’am.”

*

They return from dinner in almost complete silence, save for the pleasant hum of the engine and the quiet melodies of the turned-down radio. The chauffeur dutifully rolls up the partition, but it does nothing to cut through the layer of tension surrounding Brooke like a forcefield - protecting her, maybe. Vanessa just sits there politely, peeling off her recently applied nail polish and trying to shift the ever-growing pile of chippings out of view on the carpet of the car. 

“You thinking about dinner?” She asks, unsure of what to do at a certain point. She is realising there is only so long one can sit in silence before it becomes unbearably awkward - especially when you are no longer strangers.

Brooke hums non-committally and continues to stare blankly out of the window, transfixed by the nothingness of California. 

*

When they get into the penthouse, Brooke shuffles a plush armchair closer to the french doors, opening them onto the balcony and breathing in the air. It’s fresher up high, but there is still the diluted smell of car exhausts and smoke, indicative of a city. Vanessa slips off her heels and pushes them under her side of the bed, slipping on Brooke’s slippers (way too big, but very warm) and making herself a cup of chamomile tea. As a last thought, she makes one for Brooke too before moving past her onto the balcony, sitting on the concrete wall that separates them from the rest of the world. If it makes Brooke anxious, she doesn’t mention it - simply making a face as she shuffles on the edge to get comfortable. They sip their tea in silence, a grateful smile spreading on the blonde’s face as she relaxes.

“You were quiet in the car on the way back,” she states, slowly and calmly, like she’s trying not to scare Brooke away. “Made me worried.” She laces her fingers together around the mug, holding it close to her like a safety blanket. “You want to talk about dinner?”

Brooke sighs and shakes her head, placing the mug on the floor and leaning her head back.

“Look, I think the business went… well - and ya’ can’t expect to win everything. I think the real problem here, Brookie, is that you actually like Ms. Cain.”

“And I think the real problem here is you sitting on that - can you please get down, you’re making me very nervous,” she breaks her silence, making a face as Vanessa leans further back teasingly, the loose curls in her hair dangling above more than twenty stories of empty space. Her knuckles go white as Vanessa tips her head back in a raucous laugh, coming to sit more safely again, to Brooke’s relief.

“Vanessa, it’s totally irrelevant whether or not I like these women. I will not become emotionally involved in business.” There is an air of finality to her words that Vanessa chooses to ignore. Instead, she just smiles plainly and nods. 

“I know,” she says, almost wisely, “That’s why Silk always says I’m not to get emotional or shit - that’s why there’s no kissing.” She gulps down any emotion, chasing it with the last drops of her tea. The cup hits the concrete with a twang. “When I’m with a guy, gal, whatever - I’m like a robot. I just do it.”

When she looks up from the moss growing in the cracks in the paving slabs she sees Brooke’s eyes looking back at her. They glint like a lake in the moonlight, just the right shade of blue that makes you want to fall in and swim forever. “Except you,” she adds on - it doesn’t feel out of place.

“Of course,” Brooke responds, softly, slowly. “You and I are so similar, Vanessa - we both screw people for money.”

They fall into a lull after that, Vanessa perched comfortably on the ledge. When she starts to shiver, Brooke takes a tentative step onto the balcony and hands her her blazer. It dwarfs Vanessa, but it’s warm and smells like Chanel No.5 and also Brooke.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” she says eventually. “When did he die?”

As she says it, it’s like watching Brooke’s heart freeze over. She sits up straighter, gone is the warmth in her eyes seemingly reserved for Vanessa, and in comes the steely expression and pinched lips.

“Last month,” she states, emotionless. 

Vanessa quirks an eyebrow and in the same hushed tone asks, “Do you miss him?”

“I hadn’t spoken to him in thirteen years,” she asserts, and then, with a little dash of something, “I wasn’t there when he died.”

“Do you want to talk about this?”

“No.”

Vanessa jumps down from the ledge with an energy that seems inconceivable at this time of night and moves as fast as she can in three-sizes-too-big-shoes towards Brooke’s chair. She crouches in front of it and takes the woman's warm hands in her own cold ones. “Okay then, I’ll tell you what we should do. How about we watch Disney films till we veg out in front of the TV and eat a shit ton of Chinese food, ‘cause I know you didn’t eat much at the fancy place.”

Brooke bursts out laughing at the suggestion before collecting herself. “Veg out?” She questions with the phrase.

“You know! Lie like vegetables. Like Broccoli or something.” Vanessa’s enthusiasm for it all is heartwarming, but Brooke shakes her head softly.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll be back, we can Broccoli tomorrow,” she says, standing up with Vanessa’s hands still in her own. She lets them go and runs a finger along the smooth skin of Vanessa's jawline before letting it drop. 

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going downstairs for a while.”

Brooke closes the door and Vanessa doesn’t chase her.


	6. chapter 6. lately you’ve been searching for a darker place to hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanessa is transfixed as she dances Adagio in half a suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Heya! Welcome back to Pretty Woman branjie style. A heads up, this contains a hearty dose of almost smut (it’s my first time writing it, don’t judge me). Thanks to Frey and Meggie (as always). Let me know what you guys think and Enjoy!

Vanessa is halfway through  _ ‘The Little Mermaid’ _ when she turns it off. It’s three A.M. and her mind won’t stop racing. Brooke isn’t back, and for some ungodly reason she can’t fathom falling asleep alone in that bed, despite doing it the night before. She sits up on the couch, pulls her curls into a ponytail and tightens the belt on her silk robe - the only thing hiding her underwear from the rest of the world.

She grabs her phone and slips it into the pocket, too worried that Brooke might call while she’s gone, and steps out into the hotel corridor. 

The elevator is empty, so she’s left alone with the cheery jazz music and her thoughts, bare foot tapping to the beat as the numbers above the door count down to zero.

It dings as it opens onto the dimly lit reception area, the receptionist on duty looking as exhausted as Vanessa feels. For someone whose work is in the night-life, she feels remarkably ill-equipped. 

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she starts, empathetic to the girl's plight. “You don’t happen to have seen a tall drink of water around here?” The girls face remains blank, so Vanessa elaborates, “Tall, blonde, gorgeous woman - muscles for days, hair down to her ass, attitude of a fucking storm goddess?”

“Down the hall, first left,” replies the receptionist like she’s on autopilot - like a sat-nav, but a bitchy white girl with nothing left to lose.

Vanessa smiles gratefully and pushes away from the counter, following her instructions down the hall.

She takes the first left into a dark room with a single light. It reflects off the golden wall embellishments, making it seem like it’s glowing all on its own. In the middle of the spotlight is a woman. She is dancing.

As Vanessa makes her way in, she starts to hear the music. The single violin that carries through the open chamber like a kite on the wind - the woman swelling and breaking with the music as if there was an orchestra and not just a loudspeaker and dreams.

She pauses with the music, chest heaving under the half unbuttoned dress shirt, bowtie loose around her neck and shoes off in a corner. Her long fingers run through her blonde curls and Vanessa is transfixed as she dances Adagio in half a suit. The music stops abruptly and leaves her to finish the dance in peace - it’s like watching waves crash onto the shore. It’s tranquil, peaceful - Vanessa can hear her own blood rushing through her veins. 

“That was beautiful, Brooke,” she calls out into the silence because they both know Brooke knew she was there. There’s a resounding calm to the blonde’s face - her body is void of tension and she looks at peace with the universe, for the first time Vanesa has seen her.

Brooke beckons her onto the open floor and Vanessa makes her way over without a question. They don’t speak - they don’t need to.

Before she does anything, Brooke loops Vanessa’s arms around her neck, holding her hips with a steadiness no one ever has before. A track comes on she’s never heard before - a sort of a building orchestral number that leaves her speechless as she rests her head on Brooke’s chest, ear just above her heart, so she can hear the way it pounds under her skin. Brooke guides them into swaying slowly before she nudges Vanessa’s head up with a finger and angles it to watch their feet. She guides them in a rudimentary tango, her feet moving easily while Vanessa’s try to follow. 

They continue like this for a while, Brooke’s breath falling on Vanessa’s neck in a way that gives her goosebumps as they rise and fall to the music. At one point Vanessa looks up, her eyes meeting Brooke’s in something a little off friendship. She finds herself leaning up, head moving through the sparks that are accumulating between them, and their lips are a hair apart when she dodges out of the would-be kiss, the blonde’s lips finding her neck instead. She lets her head fall back with a noise that sounds almost like a moan, joining the music in echoing around the chamber. 

Brooke hooks her arms under Vanessa’s legs and with the woman’s hands starting to card through her hair, sets her onto the grand piano in the corner of the room.

“Is this okay?” Her voice breaks a little with want.

“Yes.”

Her back meets the cold mahogany laminate through the thin silk of her robe, and it arches a little at the pressure. Brooke’s hot lips make their way down her collarbone and start to drop onto the tanned skin of her sternum,  fine beads of sweat being replaced with faded red lipstick . Her hands move up and down Vanessa's clothed sides until they find the bow she tied, undoing it with one hand, while remaining focused intently on her open skin. 

The silk falls open to reveal black lace on warm tawny skin. Layed out on top of the piano she looks like a painting, and Brooke loses any self-control she thought she had the second Vanessa moans,

“ _ Yes _ .”


	7. chapter 7. i’m powerful with a little bit of tender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You never sleep, huh,” she grumbles, squinting upwards at the ornate ceiling. 
> 
> “You’re always grumpy in the morning,” Brooke counters goodnaturedly, although without giving anything away as to whether or not she does sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, It’s been forever and I am really sorry but I’ve had some rocky times with my mental health recently and I had to take a break from tumblr and from writing. I really hope I can get you another chapter of this in less than three months but I make no promises. In other news we’re almost half way there now! Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this one - it’s an apology <3
> 
> ALSO I’VE BEEN DOING ALOT OF READING LATELY AND I’VE REALISED THAT COMMENTING IS SO REWARDING TOO. PLEASE COMMENT. I’VE BEEN ON BOTH SIDES AND IT’S FUCKING LOVELY.

When Brooke shakes Vanessa awake, she is already dressed. Vanessa rolls over gently, Brooke’s hand on her lower back as she looks up into the blonde's eyes, getting lost for a second in her sleepy haze.

“Wake up, time to shop,” calls Brooke, cheery after a coffee and a protein shake. Vanessa sighs with a small giggle.

“You never sleep, huh,” she grumbles, squinting upwards at the ornate ceiling. 

“You’re always grumpy in the morning,” Brooke counters goodnaturedly, although without giving anything away as to whether or not she does sleep. She stands straight and appears to dust off the navy blazer she is wearing before reaching into an inside pocket and pulling out her AmEx card. She hands it to Vanessa as if it was a piece of cardboard to be disposed of or something equally as meaningless. Vanessa takes it carefully. “Now, if you have any trouble using it, call the hotel,” Brooke reminds her, hand already on her briefcase. Before Vanessa can say anything, the blonde leans over and places a chaste kiss on her forehead, smiling slightly to herself as she goes to leave.

“So, more shopping?” Vanessa clarifies, causing Brooke to stop at the bedroom door. She turns around, puzzled at the tone.

“Yes,” she confirms as if it is obvious, “frankly, I'm surprised you didn’t buy more yesterday.”

“It wasn’t fun.” 

“No?” Brooke drops the briefcase at the door and sits by Vanessa’s legs on the bed, any plans to leave forgotten. 

“They were real mean to me.”

“Mean to you? Well then.” Brooke takes Vanessa's hand and pulls her up out of the bed, her face like a man on a mission, except more pressed and less forgiving. “We’ll see about that,” she mumbles under her breath, hoping Vanessa won’t hear. She doesn’t see the smile that graces the girl's lips. 

*

Vanessa is barely dressed when Brooke comes back into the room. She’s got her hair piled in a bun on top of her head and one of Brooke’s shirts is tied at her waist like a crop top, attempting to bring a modicum more class to the hooker skirt on its third day of wear. Despite looking like a self proclaimed ‘mess on legs’, Brooke still watches Vanessa for a second, eyes raking her soft, toned legs and ass lifted by her red stilletos. 

The blonde picks up the AmEx card off the table and slots it into the breast pocket of the shirt, mentally appraising Vanessa’s memory before forcing an iced latte into the girls hand and using the other to almost drag her into the main area. They stand facing each other for a second, Vanessa looking up expectantly.

“Don’t fidget.” Brooke starts, tone clipped. “Drink the coffee.”

“Yes, mami.”

“Ness.”

“Sorry.”

*

By the time they get to the store Vanessa is shaking. It’s in part due to the large coffee she drank in an inhumanely fast time, but mostly the sheer nerves of standing outside a place that managed to make her feel so small. Brooke notices, of course she does, and squeezes her hand comfortingly. 

“What’s wrong?” She asks, quietly.

“People are looking at me,” she responds, shifting a little on the spot, hands running along the base of her skirt, nails buried in her palms.

“They’re not looking at you, they’re looking at me.” Brooke’s not wrong. She’s dressed in a white lace bodysuit, tailored navy cigarette trousers and a navy blazer, the outfit accentuating the impossible length of her legs and the gym workouts she does six days a week

“I don’t like stores like these, they’re not nice to people.”

“They’re never nice to people. They’re nice to credit cards,” Brooke counters with a tone that tells Vanessa they are done. She gives her a quick once over, smoothing one side of the shirt. “Quit fidgeting, get rid of the gum,” she commands. When Vanessa spits it out into the nearest street grate, the blonde just sighs.

*

Brooke leads them both into the store with a confidence Vanessa just doesn't have. It’s been cultivated through years in a competitive field, and it oozes out of every barely existing pore on the blondes skin. Vanessa trails behind, timid and unsure, but immediately feeling the residual anger burn back up in her heart. 

This store is painted in taupes and warm beiges, neutrals that extend as far as the eye can see. It even smells expensive, like if you step in without at least a million dollars you will be kicked right back out onto the street. Vanessa’s eyes get caught on the bright reds and golds and the deep sea blues covering the many racks and rails of the store. 

They’re immediately approached by a tall woman in her mid twenties, red hair and green eyes that appear to reflect all the greenery Salifornia is missing. She has more conviction behind her eyes than she should when faced with Brooke, but it doesn’t turn Vanessa off in the way it should. 

“Scarlet Envy, floor manager,” the redhead says, hand stuck out in greeting. Brooke shakes it in a business-like fashion, but her frown stays put. 

“Brooke Lynn Hytes.”

“Ah yes, miss,” Scarlett appeases, acknowledging Vanessa for the first time - even with someone like Brooke she is still overlooked - people still don’t treat her like she has a voice. 

“You see this woman?” Brooke gestures to the brunette behind her.

“Yes?”

“Do you have anything in this shop as beautiful as she is?” Scarletts smile falters for a second, her face overcome with confusion as she scans the shop floor. 

“Oh, yes.” Brooke’s eyes darken. “ Oh, no! No, no, no, I'm saying we have many things as beautiful as she would want them to be. That's the point I was getting at, and I think we can all agree with that. “ Her face now matches her name and it makes Vanessa chuckle in a way that Brooke definitely banned her from doing earlier that day.

“I think,” the blonde tests, “that we’re going to need more people helping us.” Scarlet nods. “I’ll tell you why. We’re going to be spending an obscene amount of money here. So we're going to need a lot more help sucking up to us. That's what we really like. You understand that?” She flashes the edge of her black AmEx card and recognition flashes across Scarlet's eyes. She nods again, this time with more assertion, and turns on her heels to find the appropriate amount of people to cater to the extortionate amount of money due to be spent. 

As Vanessa is fussed and tended to, Scarlet approaches Brooke again, the taller woman with a soft smile and a warm demeanour peeking through her cold front. “Excuse me miss? exactly how obscene an amount of money were you talking about?”

Brooke chuckles softly. 

“Just profane or really offensive”

“Really offensive Scarlet.”

“I think I like you.”

At that moment, Brookes phone rings and she sighs. The spell is broken, and she hurries past Vanessa, sliding the card into her hand and kissing her on the cheek. She’s halfway through the conversation before she leaves the store. 

*

“Brooke Lynn Hytes speaking.”

“Oh, Brooke. Where the hell are you?” Brooke runs a hand through her loose blonde strands, stifling a yawn as her eyes scan the street for her car. 

“Busy, Mr Charles.”

“The words all over the street. Cain’s gonna raise the offer.” Ru sounds more excited than Brooke has heard in god knows how long, but she’s unconvinced. 

“She's countering? God, she is a tough old bird. Where's she gonna get the money from?”

“I don't know. She, uh-- I think he's throwin' in with the employees.” Her hand moves to her forehead, no longer caring about her makeup. She is tired and clinging onto the happiness of Vanessa - hoping she can get through the day and just get back to her. 

“She still needs someone to underwrite the paper. Find out who it is, I’m on my way.” 

“Yeah, okay. You got it.”

The line goes dead. 

*

Back with Scarlet, Vanessa smiles to herself. She feels powerful in a store full of men and women who listen to her every whim. In the men's section, she spots a red tie the colour of her lipstick. She taps the nearest woman and gestures to it. “Get me that tie, would you?” She asks - it doesn’t sound like a request though. 

“Farrah, get miss Mateo the tie.” 

*

She finishes up in that shop and orders a taxi to take her home - arms overwhelmed with the sheer number of bags she has. As they are driving down the street however, she spots a shop she has to visit and calls for the driver to pull up. She grabs four or five bags, and hops out, strutting into the store like she owns it. 

“Hello.” She calls out as she steps through the door. She drops her bags on the floor dramatically and watches as two women hurry to pick them back up for her, moving them onto a stand ever so carefully. Carson is scurrying around in the back and she calls for him to come down to meet her. “Do you remember me?” She asks.

Vanessa is smirking because she can. She’s dressed like a rich housewife, and she has every intention of acting like one - all prissy and entitled because she can. She can do all of this. 

“No, I'm sorry,” replies Carson and he sounds genuine. It’s a wonder what dressing well can do for you, she thinks to herself, dabbing at her forehead with a silk handkerchief. 

“I was here yesterday. You wouldn't wait on me,” she states. 

“Oh.” This time his brow furrows and she watches as her remember exactly who she is.

“You work on commission, right?”

“Uh, yes.” Vanessa wishes Brooke could see her now. She imagines the blonde would look so proud as she slowly pulls off her white gloves to reveal chipped red nailpolish. With her now unclothed hand, she reaches into the breast pocket of her cream pantsuit and pulls out the AmEx card. She tries to embody Brooke as she smrks.

“Big mistake. Big. Huge!” She beckons for her bags and they are placed back in her hands. She gives them one last look and then raises an eyebrow, lip quirking. “I have to go shopping now.”

She leaves and she does not look back. 

*

Vanessa stalks through the hotel lobby looking proud, chest out, head high. She has a few bags in each hand with Courtney carrying the rest up to the room and she feels powerful. She could get used to the way people’s eyes are following her for good reasons instead of bad, and yet the grasp of wealth feels scary. It sickens her to know how differently people treat her because of how she dresses.

Nina’s talking to people when Vanessa walks in and she doesn’t notice her at first, but as her clients' heads turn, hers does too. She sees the short brunette in a cream pantsuit and a small smile grows on her face. She sees Vanessa as kind of her child now and, damn, is she proud. 

Vanessa goes out of sight, but Nina’s smile doesn’t change.

*

Brooke enters her office already done with the day. At her desk sits Ru, her boss, looking unimpressed with her lateness as he slams the phone back onto the desk, shuffling his papers and pointing to the chair opposite him for her to sit in. 

“Brooke Lynn,” he says, monotone and with little care.

“Mr Charles.”

His facade seems to drop almost immediately, lighting up like a kid at Christmas as he hands her a sheet of mortgages taken out by Shuga Cain. “You were right about Shuga. She mortgaged everything she owns, right down to her walking stick, to secure a loan from the bank.” Brooke feigns surprise before giving him a raise of the eyebrow that can only be interpreted as ‘I told you so.’ Ru’s face replies with ‘and there's more’ before he says, “Not just any bank, Visage Banking!”

“Uhuh,” Brooke follows.

“I think it goes without saying that this deal means more to the bank than even to Cain. And we‘ve got an in at the bank…” he trails off, like he wants her to end his thoughts, but she refuses with a stare. “So…..”

“We gotta call the bank.” She finally exhales with a sigh. He looks disapproving and a little curious as to her mood.

“Alright Brooke. What the hell is wrong with you this week?” He breaks, leaning onto her desk like he’s supposed to be interrogating her, but with all the power of a golden retriever. Despite this, Brooke cannot find it within her to withhold much.

“You know what I used to love when I was a little kid, Ru?” She doesn’t wait for a reply. “Building blocks, Kinects.”

Ru sighs and runs a hand over his bald head. “So, I liked Monopoly - I don’t get what you’re saying.” 

“In Canada, I help people build things. You don’t build anything, Ru. You destroy it.”

“I make money,” he counters with a stony disposition. “We’ve worked for a year on this deal. It's what you said you wanted. I'm handing it to you.”

“You’ve worked for it. You want it. You don’t want your hands dirty.” Brooke gets louder as she says it, standing, hands flat on her desk.

“Morse's jugular is exposed. It's time for the kill,” Ru finishes, looking angry.

Brooke picks up her briefcase swiftly and has a foot out of the door when Ru calls after her, “Call the bank!” She doesn’t dignify him with a response.

*

When Brooke comes into the penthouse she is exhausted and frazzled, and cannot wait to relax into the sofa with a large glass of red wine and her Netflix subscription. What she does not expect (although it is not unwelcomed), is to find Vanessa lounged on her favourite armchair nude. The woman’s hair is tied in a messy bun on top of her head, single curls falling down to frame her face. The only item she has on (it cannot be deemed clothing), is a vintage red tie. It covers nothing, sitting perfectly between her breasts, and Brooke would be lying if she said she wasn’t fixated.

“Nice tie,” she gulps out, a little speechless.

“I bought it for you,” purrs Vanessa, tugging at it gently, teeth imprinting on her lip. She holds her hand out to Brooke and guides her through the archway into the ensuite.

*

They lay together in a bathtub full of bubbles, Brooke's head on Vanessa's chest as she slowly rubs a sponge over her torso, watching the bubbles lather and dissipate as if entranced. There’s something about bathing together that removes any sense of distance, and Brooke feels compelled to open up about things she’s never considered opening up about. She smiles contentedly before she begins to speak.

“My father always wanted me to be a man,” she states plainly, without preamble or caution. Vanessa’s hands stop briefly before a sloshing can be heard and then warm water is back, rolling over Brooke’s chest. “I suppose that’s why he never had a problem with me being gay - thought I’d make a butch lesbian.” 

Vanessa chuckles at that and Brooke can feel the vibrations through her own body too. “You ain’t butch, Mary,” she gets out.

“I know,” responds Brooke with a lilt in her voice. “Anyway, back in my early twenties, I competed in Miss Continental. My dad,” she pauses to consider her words, “he was furious.” Vanessa places a warm hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “We fought for weeks, he always wanted me to be something, to follow in his footsteps and make something of myself, and insisted that I couldn’t do so if I won a beauty pageant.”

“Bullshit.”

“Exactly. Anyway, he all but disowned me - called me names I’ll never forget and, god, I was so angry.” She sighs and tries to run a hand through her hair, but it’s wet and knotted, so she settles on running her nails up her thigh. Vanessa notices and drops the sponge in the water, settling them both into a position where she can detangle Brooke's hair easily. “It took me ten thousand dollars in therapy to say that sentence. I was very angry with him.” She repeats with a smirk as Vanessa giggles behind her. “I say that very well don’t I? I’ll say it again. I was very angry with him.” This turns the woman’s giggles into full fledged laughter as she feels her hair become lighter, until Vanessa’s fingers get back to detangling.

“Hi, I’m Brooke Lynn Hytes and I was very angry with my father.”

“I’d be real mad at the ten thousand dollars, boo, but you do you,” Vanessa chips in and Brooke can hear the smile in her voice, glad they're both enjoying their bathtub rendezvous.

“I won Miss Continental,” Brooke announces finally, deeming it important to finish the story.

“Damn, babe,” she sounds impressed and it makes Brooke flush under the dimly glowing bathroom lights. 

“I won Miss Continental and I used the money to put myself through law school. And then I got a job and opened a firm under RuPaul and the first case of his I took on - I helped buy out the company my father was president of. I helped buy it and then I helped sell it off, piece by piece.”

“What did the therapist say?”

“He said I was cursed.”

“Well, you got even, so that must’a made you happy then.”

“Did I mention my legs are about 31 inches from hip to ankle,” Vanessa asks, suggestively wrapping both her legs around Brooke’s waist and leaning to dot a kiss onto her shoulder. “So, basically, we're talkin' about 31 inches of therapy, wrapped around you for the bargain price of…”

“Three thousand dollars,” they finish together, laughing. Brooke turns her head so she can lay a soft kiss on the back of Vanessa’s hand, a 'thank you for listening' and a 'thank you for still being here'.


	8. chapter 8. don't make me spell it out for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Vanessa in her - almost vintage style - skater dress, and Brooke in a white shirt - sleeves rolled, and a pair of blue skinny jeans, they look like an idyllic couple ready for a day at the races.
> 
> “What if someone recognises me,” she asks, voice hard to hear above the ever-rising din. Brooke gives her a soft, but reassuring smile, coming to stand in front of her, arms winding around her waist, gently holding her.
> 
> “I assure you they have not spent that much time in Olympic.” Vanessa gives a chuckle at the sentiment but refuses to relax into Brooke’s grip.
> 
> “You did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i know it's been 4 months but i promise you it will be less next time.... i swear <3
> 
> let me know what you think!

Freshly cut grass and expensive champagne fill Vanessa’s nostrils as she tries to daintily walk through the field. She’s got one soft hand in Brooke Lynn’s own, fingers intertwined in a way she’s not quite ready to unpack yet, and the other hand is gripping tightly to wicker picnic basket Nina found for them - a red plaid blanket carefully tucked through the handles. 

With Vanessa in her - almost vintage style - skater dress, and Brooke in a white shirt - sleeves rolled, and a pair of blue skinny jeans, they look like an idyllic couple ready for a day at the races. Brooke had assured her back at the hotel that it is the least formal day, and she can’t help but pray she is right.

As they get closer, Vanessa can hear the noise of the announcer filtering through the general hubbub of tipsy twenty and thirty-somethings, and it makes her stop in her tracks, eyes transfixed on the crowds. She drops Brooke's hand.

“What if someone recognises me,” she asks, voice hard to hear above the ever-rising din. Brooke gives her a soft, but reassuring smile, coming to stand in front of her, arms winding around her waist, gently holding her.

“I assure you they have not spent that much time in Olympic.” Vanessa gives a chuckle at the sentiment but refuses to relax into Brooke’s grip.

“You did.”

Brooke rolls her eyes good-naturedly, picking Vanessa’s hand up again and giving it a gentle tug. “Alright, You look great. You look like a lady.” Vanessa scrunches up her nose. “You’re gonna have a wonderful time, let’s go.” She lets herself live in the way their fingers interlock for a few more seconds.

“Alright, Miss Brooke Lynn.” She allows herself to be pulled towards the crowd, and when she is - she can’t turn back.

*

They walk through the stalls and tents arm in arm, gently muttering snarky comments to each other under their breath. The races had never been Brooke’s favourite when she was a young upstart, but as she’s grown up and into her job, she found them valuable for networking and just enjoying herself. 

They’ve just found a good spot to set up when Ru wanders over to them, already gunning for Brooke. The blonde just sighs heavily, visibly straightening her back and transforming in front of Vanessa’s eyes. 

“Vanessa, I want you to meet my boss - RuPaul Andre Charles.” She offers her hand out as demurely as she can and he kisses it softly. She has to inhale sharply to stop herself recoiling at the action - it feels so wrong to her. 

“It’s always a pleasure to meet one of Brooke’s girls,” Ru smiles. Brooke watches the encounter with a vacant look in her eyes as if she's watching something that isn’t really there. 

“Let me get you ladies a drink, champagne, Vanessa?” She nods, and, to her relief, he leaves. She leans closer to Brooke just to feel something that isn’t the cold breeze that follows Ru wherever he goes. 

“Real genuine guy,” she jokes, but she still feels unsettlingly open and unguarded. 

“Mhm,” Brooke agrees, placing each hand on Vanessa’s waist and coming to stand behind her so she can place her chin on her shoulder. 

“I can see why you needed me.” This gets Brooke to crack a smile and if Vanessa turned around she’s pretty sure she’d be able to see the woman’s shoulders come back down from her ears. 

*

They relax in their bubble for a few minutes more, just watching the world move around them, before they spot Ru coming back their way. Brooke sighs. 

She smiles at the brunette, squeezing her hand once before pointing at two innocuous looking women. “That’s Nicky and Gigi, they’ve made marrying an art form - they’ll keep you entertained for a few minutes,” She states plainly in a tone that suggests this is not the time to argue. 

Vanessa just nods her head, pressing her lips softly to Brooke’s cheek to try and convey a level of ‘togetherness’ and starts to walk over to the women who are giggling behind their gloved hands. She smoothes her skirt in preparation, bare hands gliding down the pale blue of her dress.

“Hello,” she starts, pulling the facade of confidence she uses while escorting onto her face with practiced ease. “Vanessa,” She sticks out her hand firmly and shakes in the way Nina so painstakingly taught her to. `

“Gigi,” offers the taller brunette as the blonde introduces herself as Nicky. 

“So you’re ze flavour of ze month,” Nicky muses, her french accent more pronounced as she blends her ‘th’ sounds in a way that sounds much softer than you would expect coming out of such a demure looking woman. 

Gigi raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in response adding, “she’s just being testy,” to try and soften the blow. “Brooke Lynn is our most eligible bachelorette,” she explains, “She refuses any hand thrown her way.” And Vanessa has to fight the urge to snort a laugh a how nineteen-twenties it all sounds. 

“Well, I’m not offering my hand, don’t worry. I’m just using her for sex.” Nicky tries to look scandalised at Vanessa’s admission, but it falls short and ends up bemused. “It’s mutual.” She tacks on the end, although she’s not sure it helps anything.

She’s about to start panicking about how she’ll deal with another half an hour of this when Yvie rides up beside them. She’s on her horse and suddenly Vanessa remembers something about the woman being a polo player, and she’s infinitely grateful for sitting through that dinner if it’s a means of escape.

“Yvangeline Oddly,” she introduces herself to the women Vanessa stands between, and she hears the gasps, further securing her suspicions that she knows nothing. Yvie looks at her and smiles. “Vanessa, lovely to see you again.” Her eyes are open and calm and Vanessa would rather spend a month with her than another five minutes with the demon housewives she’s been left with, so when Yvie asks if she will entertain her for a little while, Vanessa gladly agrees and ambles over to the stables where Yvie dismounts.

“Were you watching the Polo?” Yvie asks as she busies herself with removing the saddle and reins. 

“What else would I be doing here?” Vanessa bats back, feeling an easy confidence she hasn’t felt in a few days. She’s strangely comfortable and she’s yet to discern why.

“Judging by many of the Lawyer wives - drinking heavily and trying to forget,” Yvie replies, and she’s smirking when she meets Vanessa’s eyes. 

*

“So who is she?” Ru asks - not trying to hide his judgement. Brooke rolls her eyes and leans back on her hand, the other gripping the stem of her champagne glass in a way that’s turning her knuckles white.

“I was asking for directions and there she was,” she explains, but she doesn't quite get the air of finality right, and Ru nudges her to go on.

“What does she do? Does she work?” he asks like she’s under investigation.

“She’s in sales,” Brook mumbles into her glass, cursing herself for not thinking of this sooner.

“Sales, That’s terrific. That’s good. What does she sell?” 

“Why do you want to know?” Brooke sounds exasperated and she can’t help it. She’s used to being cross-examined, but usually, Ru trusts her judgement enough to let her off once she’s answered the cursory questions.

“Just hear me out,” Ru starts and Brooke has to refrain from rolling her eyes a third time, hears her mother's old saying in the back of her mind and keeps her eyes trained straight ahead. “I know you, Brooke, I hired you, for god’s sake. And you’ve been different this week - and I can’t help but feel like this girl is why.” He's right, of course, he is, but she can’t let him know that. She feels an innate urge to protect Vanessa and she plans to act on it. “Especially when I see her talking to Yvie Oddly-”

“I introduced them at dinner the other night, so what?” Brooke cuts him off, tense.

“And now they're best friends?” She lets her eyes find the stables and watches as Vanessa laughs with Yvie over her horse. She drops a strawberry into her mouth and uses her chipped thumbnail to wipe the juice from her chin. She has to pull her eyes away. “This girl appears out of nowhere. Now she's talking to a girl whose company we're trying to buy out. Convenient, don't you think?” 

“You sound paranoid, Ru.” She’s gone from tense to cold now, and she doesn’t care.

“How do you know that girl hasn't attached herself to you, so she can bring information back to the Cains?” Brooke scoffs and it makes Ru more and more enraged until she can see his neck flush a muted scarlet. “This happens, Brooke Lynn. Industrial Espionage.”

“Ru.” She stops him dead in his tracks and he faces her properly. “Listen to me, she’s not a spy.” And Brooke prays to the heavens he will just leave it but he does not.

“What?”

“She’s not a spy, she’s a fucking hooker.”

His face twists and changes until he’s laughing, body fully shaking as he wipes a tear from under his eye. “Oh, she’s a hooker.” She watches as he drags his eyes up her body, even from afar and she wants to punch him.

“I picked her up on Olympia. In your car.” She is exhausted, hands raking through her hair as she pulls it out of its perfect ponytail. 

“You're the only millionaire I ever heard of… who goes looking for a bargain-basement streetwalker, you know?”

“She’s…. I’m sorry I told you.” Brooke bites her lip, teeth indenting into the cherry paint. Fuck.

*

Vanessa bids Yvie a good day as the latter prepares for her second event of the afternoon. She’s all prepared to go back to Brooke when Ru stops her - a large hand on her shoulder. 

“Are you having a good day, Vanessa?” He asks and his voice sounds strained. She nods, affirming she is, before letting him continue. “It’s very different from Olympia, isn’t it?”

“What?” she lets out - not nearly as loud as she intended, but just as shocked. She gulps back the sudden urge to vomit on his very nice shoes and stands up tall. “What?” she asks again. 

“Brooke told me, but don't worry, your secret is safe with me.” He goes to walk away but turns around after only three feet. “And after all this is over maybe you can show me your skills.” He winks and he is gone.

She gapes as he leaves, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as her brain flicks through every possible thing this could mean but she cannot find a single response. 

Not one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think <3


	9. chapter 9. at these hot gates you spit your vitriol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Asshole!” She half yells through her gritted teeth, and when Brooke turns around she does not look shocked. “That’s a word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg it's been less than two weeks! thanks to Frey for being a magnificent beta and i hope you enjoy this slightly short chapter in all of its glory <3

Vanessa storms up to Brooke as the blonde is leant over the picnic basket, packing the blanket into it. She must hear her before she reaches her, so she calls out “Ness’ can we have a word?” And Vanessa just snorts in anger.

“Asshole!” She half yells through her gritted teeth, and when Brooke turns around she does not look shocked. “That’s a word.”

“I think I’d have preferred ‘fine’, but hey,” Brooke tries to joke back, but it falls flat. She reaches out to touch Vanessa, but she flinches away, and they end up sat on the grass, Brooke staring at the brunette and Vanessa staring straight ahead.

“You know what?” She seethes, letting each word burn on her tongue before she lets them out. “Tell me one thing, Brookie. Why make me dress up all pretty for you?”

“Well, for one thing, the clothing was appropriate.”

“What I mean is,” she sighs as tears burn her eyes, “why dress me up if you was just gonna tell ‘em I’m a hooker, Brooke Lynn.” It rolls off her tongue in so many syllables, and Brooke used to love it, but each one feels like acid now. “Why didn’t you just let me wear my own goddamn clothes, 'cause you know what, when a guy like RuPaul comes onto me in my clothes I can handle it. I am prepared for it.” She has to stop herself as she brings a finger to her eye, trying to push the tears back in. Brooke fishes a handkerchief out of her back pocket and is relieved when Vanessa takes it.

She watches Vanessa cry and she starts to piece together what's happened and it leaves her fuming. “I’m very, very sorry,” she starts, but it does not feel like enough. “I am not happy with Ru at all for saying or doing that, but he is my boss and I have known him for years.” 

“That tells me nothing other than you lack morals, Brooke,” she bites and it stings.

“He thought you were some sort of industrial spy. The guy’s paranoid and nothing I was going to say would have stopped him.”

“Are you my pimp now?” Vanessa cuts her off and her voice is strong again, no longer wet with tears. “Are you just gonna pass me around to your friends. Is that how this is gonna work? Am I a toy?” She stands up and starts to walk towards the car, but Brooke manages to grab her arm. 

“You are not mine, nor anyone's toy, Vanessa,” she affirms sternly. “I am speaking to you, sit down.” The gods must be on Brooke’s side, because Vanessa sits down with a huff - skirt creased and eyes streaked with mascara. “I hate to point out the obvious, but you are, in fact, a hooker. And you are my employee.”

“You don’t own me. I decide. I say who, I say when.” Brooke laughs because Vanessa does not get what she is saying. The idea that Vanessa thinks Brooke would let anyone else have a quick fuck makes the blonde feel physically sick, but deep down she understands.

“I refuse to spend the next three days fighting with you. I said I was sorry Vanessa.” She is impatient now, tired and done with the day if Vanessa is not going to listen to what she is saying. Her hair is knotted at the ends where she has been playing with it, anxious.

“I’m sorry I met you,” Vanessa lets out bitterly, head shaking. “I’m sorry I ever got into that stupid fucking car.” She’s unbuckling her white heels so she is ready to storm away again, and there are specks of blood on the insides.

“Like you had so many options,” Brooke jibes - almost cruel, but if you listen close enough you can hear her voice break.

“I have never had anyone make me feel as cheap as you did today.” Vanessa rises to her feet again and this time Brooke does not stop her. She stands too and grabs the picnic basket, heavy with the wasted memories of the day.

“I find that hard to believe,” Brooke scoffs.

*

They drive back to the hotel in frigid silence, Brooke’s hand gripping the wheel so tight she loses sensation in some of her fingers. Vanessa doesn’t drop her eyes from the skyline and if Brooke were to examine the reflection in the windscreen, she’d see that she’s crying again.

They enter the suite in silence, Brooke grabbing her wallet off the table before she can stop herself. She holds it weightily in her hands for a second, feels what she’s about to do within every muscle before reaching in and pulling out a wad of hundred dollar bills.

She slaps it down on the table with force and stalks into the bedroom, letting the door shut behind her as she leans against the wardrobe and sinks to the floor.

*

Vanessa stares at the money, watches it like it’s going to move as the tears roll down her face. She grabs her pile of clothes - her clothes, the ones she already owned, worked for, worked in, and hugs them close. Picking up the money, she leaves the suite hearing the door shut firmly behind her.

Her breath is ragged as she waits for the elevator, she pushes the button what feels like a million times, muttering down under her breath like a prayer. She wants out, wants to leave, to get away, but something is keeping her tethered to her spot. 

She hears the telltale click of the lock and sighs to herself, the elevator still not arriving.

“I’m sorry.” She hears in her periphery and the voice is hoarse, like Brooke has been crying. She hadn’t seen her cry. “It was stupid and it was cruel and I didn’t mean it.” It all sounds sincere, but Vanessa has been burned before and she knows that they always sound sincere. The worst fires are the ones you don’t know are fires until the smoke is choking you. 

“Will you stay the week?” Brooke hates how fragile she sounds, how the vowels and consonants tumble out of her mouth so easily. How much it feels like giving up. But it’s not, she reminds herself, it is not giving up, it does not make her weak, it makes her strong.

Vanessa finally looks at her and she sees the swelling under her eyes and the tiredness in the lines of her face that you shouldn’t have at Brooke’s age. The stress Brooke is under has cracked her and, above all else, Vanessa knows how that feels. She takes a deep breath and lets it run through every muscle in her body before she replies.

“Why?” Vanessa asks, and her voice is hoarse too, but worse it is hollow. 

“I saw you talking to Yvie Oddly; I didn’t like it,” she replies even though it doesn’t really answer the question.

“We were just talking!” Vanessa exclaims and it’s almost indignant in a way that manages to swat away the tension in the air enough for Brooke to choke out a laugh, feeling it burn its way up her throat. 

“I didn’t like it,” she affirms again, although it feels like she’s admitting something she’d rather keep hidden. The elevator dings and Brooke curses under her breath. 

Courtney pops her head out with her cheery smile. “Down?” She asks, as if there is nothing she is interrupting, but when she sees their faces she retreats into the lift.

Vanessa lets Brooke guide her back into the suite with a gentle hand on her lower back. They both sit on the sofa together, inches apart. Vanessa collapses into it, but Brooke doesn’t lean too far back, knowing too well that if she did, she’d stay and wallow in her sadness forever.

They sit in the tense silence for a little while - let it wash over them for as long as they can bear, until Brooke is squirming, because it feels awful. For a lawyer, she fares terribly in confrontation, and this fight is running her into the ground. The Los Angeles skyline looks grey.

It’s still a few minutes before either speaks again, Brooke running a finger along the bottom of her jeans methodically.

“You hurt me,” Vanessa states and it is blunt, her jaw set.

“Yes.”

“Don’t do it again.” She relaxes her shoulders fully, tucking herself under one of Brooke’s arms, so she’s buried into her side. It’s domestic. It’s nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! i love hearing what you have to say.  
Tumblr: @pink-grapefruit-cafe


	10. chapter 10. i can't be the only one who's lonely tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanessa inhales the smell of Brooke’s perfume and exhales a deep sigh. “First guy I loved was a total nothing. But the second was worse,” she admits freely. Brooke doesn’t dare interrupt, because it feels like it would be an intrusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short one for y'all but I hope you're not too comfy with weekly updates because the next chapter is a big un and I'm maybe 300 words in. thanks to frey for betaing <3

They’re laying in bed together, Vanessa’s head on Brooke’s chest - the only thing between them a piece of silk nightshirt.

Vanessa inhales the smell of Brooke’s perfume and exhales a deep sigh. “First guy I loved was a total nothing. But the second was worse,” she admits freely. Brooke doesn’t dare interrupt, because it feels like it would be an intrusion. “My mama called me a lambon magnet.If there was a bicho or a lambon in a mile radius, I’d come home with them.” Brooke raises an eyebrow at what she can only assume to be Puerto Rican curse words, they sound almost musical when Vanessa says them. “So that’s how I ended up here. I followed bicho number three.” She sighs, runs the hand that isn’t trapped between herself and Brooke through her hair, letting it all fall onto her shoulders.

“Oh,” Brooke responds, amused, but unsure as to whether or not she’s being insulted.

“So here I was: no money, no friends, no lambon.”

Brooke chuckles again, “And you chose this as your profession?” She jibes, glad Vanessa knows it’s friendly now and not cruel.

“I worked a couple of fast food places, parked cars for people, though they weren’t fans cause I’m,” she gestures to herself, “untrustworthy. But I couldn’t make rent, and I didn’t want to run back to Florida with my tail between my legs. Then I met Silks.” Brooke can hear the smile in her voice, feels the way her fingers tap on her stomach in happiness.

“Yeah?” Brooke asks under her breath, urging her to continue.

“She was a hooker, and she made it sound so great, Brooke. So one day I did it. I cried the whole time. But then I got my regulars, and you know?” She pauses, gathers herself like tape in a VHS. “You don’t plan this. It ain’t a childhood dream.” Brooke knows a lot about things that aren’t childhood dreams. When she was a little girl she wanted to be a prima ballerina - dance the stages of Montreal and New York and London instead of sitting in their boardrooms, bored. 

“You could be so much more,” Brooke tells her softly, nose in her caramel hair, fingers tracing patterns onto her exposed shoulder. Vanessa makes a noise between a sigh and a snuffle as her cold nose touches Brooke’s collarbone. 

“People put you down enough and you start to believe it,” she mumbles into the pale skin. It’s a heavy sentiment, but she’s not wrong and it shatters Brooke’s heart like a CD thrown on a road. It radiates through her and she looks down at the woman in her arms. 

“I think you are very very bright,” she muses, her fingers still. “I think you are very bright and so very special.”

“The bad stuff is easier to believe, Brooke. You ever notice that?”

*

Brooke wakes up early and slips out of bed with ease. She stands at the bathroom door, toothbrush sticking out of her mouth at a lopsided angle, one spindle of foam falling out at the corner. Vanessa’s very easy to watch - she’s transfixing, her skin soft, body lean. The way the covers are draped around her makes Brooke want to crawl back into bed, but she has business to attend to, so she retreats into the bathroom to get ready. She leaves a note and the AmEx card on the bedside table as is tradition and leaves the suite without a noise, her emerald pantsuit crisp and her demeanour sharp.

Her ride to work is relatively painless, and she gets through her meetings quickly and efficiently, barely stopping for a coffee and a cigarette at eleven. The offices are as dark and foreboding as they look from the outside, and it’s times like this she misses the Toronto headquarters - her plush chair in seafoam green, maple meeting tables in light, and airy boardrooms instead of these charcoal tombs. Her makeshift desk has an Ikea chair and a flat pack desk and she’s not a fan of either.

She stubs out her cigarette on the wall outside, dropping the stub into a plant pot that is already littered with lawyers hopes and dreams, before heading back into the lobby. Once she reaches the desk she leans on it to chat to the receptionist. She has time to kill and the woman seems nice enough - engaging as they discuss baseball (a sport Brooke has very little interest in) and the existence of Gastropubs (places Brooke thinks are too pretentious to enjoy a meal). 

"Can you send the tickets through to the hotel?" She asks as she moves to leave, watching as the receptionist nods dutifully. She almost escapes, but Ru calls her with a tone that says she cannot refuse, and she turns on her five-inch heels to glower at him.

"I have somewhere to be," she asserts calmly in answer to his unasked question. 

"But-" he tries to cut in, but she holds up her hand. 

"Cain will still be here when I get back," she reminds sternly, refusing to give in to him today. "I am going on a date." She lets herself smile at that, giving him a true indication of how she feels.

"With the hooker?" he asks and Brooke whips her head to face him directly. She takes three measured paces until she is close enough to smell his aldehydic cologne. 

"I would be very careful if I were you," she forces out through gritted teeth. "I am not lenient on those who go against me, and I will not be lenient with you if you continue to go against Vanessa, do you understand?"

She hears him gulp and the sound of his defeat is almost good enough to flatten the anger that has been growing in her since the races - almost. "I need a response, Ru." She says again, firm.

"I understand," he replies, shoulders rolled back and nose high. They part, and she resists the urge to turn back and rip him a new one, because she is still so angry.

She sits in her car and lets her leg bounce furiously until she can inhale for seven - until her breath stretches evenly, fluidly. Smiling to herself, she drives back to the hotel, back to Vanessa. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think <3


	11. chapter 11. sing me a song your voice is like silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If I forget to tell you this later, I had a really great time tonight,” she tells Brooke, her voice so sincere, so raw, it makes Brooke emotional. She lifts their intertwined fingers to her mouth and presses her lips to the knuckles. 
> 
> “Shall we, beautiful?” She asks, head tilting towards the door.
> 
> “Let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really on a roll! i hope you enjoy!

They meet in the lobby again. Brooke waits at the bottom of the stairs in a deep green, satin dress, the cowl neck accentuating what she lacks in cleavage. Her hair is perfectly curled and falling over one shoulder, and her heels only make her tower further into the sky. She has a black, velvet dinner jacket slung over one arm and a box in the other hand. She inhales deeply and then smiles.

Vanessa descends the stairs like she is made for this. She’s dressed in a deep red dress, one that hugs her curves and flairs out only at the bottom. She makes Brooke’s mouth go dry as she watches her hips sway. Fuck.

“Do I look okay?” She asks as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, the train of her dress gathering at her feet. Her caramel curls are pinned into a loose bun, and a few strands of hair frame her face. In the mid-afternoon light she looks ethereal.

“Mhmm,” Brooke hums as she blatantly stares. Vanessa snaps her fingers with a smirk to get Brooke’s eyes to meet hers. “Mhmm,” she repeats but this time she’s grinning. “I think there’s something missing,” She mock muses, waving the box.

“Nothing else is gonna fit in this dress, Mary, I’m telling ya,” Vanessa jokes as she twirls in it, feeling like a fairy princess for the second time in a week. Brooke smiles and raises an eyebrow.

“What about something from this box?” She asks with a cheeky smirk as she slowly lifts the lid. Brooke watches Vanessa’s face move from teasing to excited as her face is lit up by a pattern of light refractions. “I don’t want you to get too excited babe, this is just on loan.” Vanessa’s eyes are like orbs by the time she looks up, full puppy dog in effect as she practically begs Brooke to put it on her.

“They let you borrow this from a store?” Vanessa asks in wonder as Brooke fastens it securely around her neck. 

Brooke chuckles as she makes sure it’s sitting correctly, “I’m a very good customer.”

“Yeah, but how much would it cost?”

“A quarter of a million dollars.” Brooke deadpans, standing behind Vanessa, who is examining the necklace in an ornate mirror in the lobby. She bursts out laughing at Vanessa’s shocked expression.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” the girl mumbles under her breath before turning on her heels and pressing a light kiss to Brooke’s cheek. “Okay, where are we going?” 

Brooke just winks and tries to grab her hand to pull her out of the lobby, but Vanessa gives her hand enough of a tug to stop them both in place. She smiles in a way that seems more intimate than the excitement they’ve been sharing. 

“If I forget to tell you this later, I had a really great time tonight,” she tells Brooke, her voice so sincere, so raw, it makes Brooke emotional. She lifts their intertwined fingers to her mouth and presses her lips to the knuckles. 

“Shall we, beautiful?” She asks, head tilting towards the door.

“Let’s go!”

*

They sit too close together in the taxi, Brooke’s bare thigh pressed against the smooth red fabric of Vanessa’s dress, but she can still feel the warmth of her body. She directs the driver minimally, preferring to pour her attention into the way Vanessa can’t meet the intensity of her gaze as her eyes trail the open skin of her neck. Her hair tumbles over the shoulder Brooke cannot see and she’s somewhere torn between grateful and unbearably tempted to lay wreckage to the pristine skin. But where they’re heading - a love bite would not be an appropriate attire. 

She straightens her back, leaning forward just a little to whisper into Vanessa’s ear. “Have I told you yet you look beautiful?” She asks in a low timbre that sends shivers down her counterparts spine. 

“Not nearly enough,” Vanessa quips, voice quiet and shaky.

Brooke lowers her mouth until her breath is ghosting over Vanessa's open skin. “You look beautiful,” she exhales, and the way Vanessa grips her thigh indicates she’s achieving exactly the effect she wants.

Before she can continue any further torture, the driver pulls up at the enterance of an ornate theatre. It looks to be built for opera with its rounded design and white columns. 

Brooke holds her hand out to help Vanessa out of the cab, and the two of them stand on the street for a second, hands clasped together as Vanessa looks on in awe. She is reminded, in the best way, that Vanessa is not accustomed to this life. The grandeur - the pomp and stance of these events are foreign, and she hopes the shorter brunette will bring a new view to it all - invigorate it.

She lets go of her hand only to offer her her arm instead. “Would you do me the honour?” She asks - the question leading, but Vanessa understands what she’s being asked. 

“I would,” she answers with a still awed smile, and they step into the entrance together. 

*

Despite knowing Vanessa is out of place - Brooke would not be able to spot it, the woman practically floating through. They spot a little girl in a puffy tulle dress and Vanessa crouches to her height - scrunching her nose at the tiny blonde in an effort to make her laugh. She does laugh, and it’s contagious and beautiful, and then she asks if Vanessa is a princess and the brunette looks like she could cry. Brooke helps her up, handing her the complimentary champagne and laying a soft kiss on her exposed shoulder.

“You make me feel like a princess,” she admits - sipping the champagne with little of the decorum she’d be showing off earlier. 

“It’s an honour,” quips Brooke, hand on Vanessa’s lower back to guide her through the archway into the main theatre.

“You never said why we’re here,” Vanessa points out as she’s guided up a narrow flight of emerald carpeted stairs. 

“I promise you’ll like it,” responds Brooke, refusing to give the game away, but also astonished Vanessa didn’t pick it up from the mass marketing at play within the theatre. She removes a strand of blonde hair from where it’s caught on her lip gloss and takes a large swig of champagne - free to be as brash as she wants while they’re out of the watchful eye of old theatre goers and the upper echelon of Malibu. 

They come out into a box at the top of the theatre with a prime view of the stage and - Brooke’s favourite bit - the orchestra pit. The seats are red and plush velvet, the kind that bounce back when pushed with a finger, and yet you could sink into them and not move for hours. Vanessa sits, but almost immediately stands back up - her inability to find stillness evident as she struggles to contain her excitement. Brooke thinks it’s like watching a puppy learning to sit, and she finds it immensely endearing as she places a hand on Vanessa's now trembling knee. She’s grateful for the privacy of the box now - that she can enjoy it with just Vanessa.

“If you’re afraid of heights, why did you get seats up here?” Vanessa asks openly. She looks like she’s trying to dive deep into Brooke’s soul and for a second Brooke wants to let her in.

“Because they’re the best,” she answers simply before amending, “you deserve the best.”

Vanessa hums in understanding, but turns back to examining the fine gold detailing on the railing ahead of them. 

“Your glasses are in there.” Brooke points to the pocket embedded in the wall - pulling out a pair of deep red binoculars affixed to a stick. Vanessa makes grabby hands at her, Brooke passing them over willingly and watching as the brunette tries to figure them out.

“They’re broken,” she whines as she holds them backwards. “Everything is small.” She pouts like the girl they saw in the entrance, and Brooke raises an eyebrow at her affectionately. 

“They’re backwards,” she chastises lightly. Vanessa’s mouth makes an ‘O’ shape for a second as she starts to re-examine the scenery just as the lights begin to dim. 

“Welcome,” Brooke announces softly, “to french ballet.”

Vanessa’s eyes widen in the dark, her mouth curving upwards as she understands the significance before frowning slightly again. “If it’s french, how am I meant to understand it?” She asks, nose scrunched in confusion.

“It’s all about the movement and the music,” Brooke reminds. “It’s powerful.” She’s already absorbed in the opening notes, transported back to her childhood.

“There’s a band,” Vanessa exclaims under her breath - finding the orchestra pit with her binoculars and staring interested at the Cellist. “That’s cool.”

“People's reactions the first time they see it are always very dramatic.” Brooke states, eyes still mesmerised by the opening movements of the long introduction. “They either love it or they hate it. If they love it - they will always love it. If they don’t, they might learn to appreciate it,” she looks at Vanessa, a different look, new and more open, “but it will never become part of their soul. It is a part of my soul.”

They sit in silence for an hour and a bit, Vanessa leaning forward at times, captivated by the dancers. Brooke moves her feet under the chair - mirroring the movements like she has done them. If Vanessa sees a tear fall, she doesn’t mention it, simply slipping a hand into Brooke’s and renewing her attention on the beauty on stage. It reminds her of the night they spent dancing in the gold-embellished hall- a feeling of longing she did not know was within her. She longs to dance with Brooke again - to evoke the emotions she’s watching the blonde display.

At the act break, Vanessa goes with the rest of the children to purchase an ice cream with Brooke’s money, as the blonde sits in contemplation of what she has become with Vanessa. The brunette returns, handing Brooke change and a tub of artisan vanilla ice cream. “Seemed like your speed,” she quips as she buries a plastic spoon in a pot of chocolate cinnamon swirl, and Brooke laughs because she is right.

They sit through the second act with ease - Brooke spending more time watching Vanessa, because she knows this ballet well, and Vanessa is more interesting than art to begin with (and more beautiful). 

They descend the stairs into the crowd like two young women at a debutante ball - Vanessa’s fingers looped around Brooke’s surprisingly firm bicep as she tries not to fall over, tipsy in high heels.

She rests her head on Brooke’s shoulder in the cab home - or back to the hotel - and has to resist the urge to fall asleep as Brooke ghosts her lips over her forehead. She feels secure, safe, satiated. She’s happy.

Brooke all but carries her up the stairs and into the bed - removing the fancy dress with the ease of someone who’s done it before and will undoubtedly do it again - leaving them both in their underwear as she pulls out a vest and a pair of shorts for herself, letting Vanessa potter around in her pants taking off her makeup. 

They fall asleep with the aircon whirring, Vanessa’s cheek on the point of Brooke’s shoulder, sheets pulled up to her chin. 

“I had a good time tonight,” Brooke whispers into her hair. “Wonderful, really.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? feelings? emotions?


	12. chapter 12. they say that the world was built for two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They end up in a big park, laying on a picnic blanket and watching the clouds go by. There aren’t many, but the few there are have fun interpretations. Vanessa is briefly convinced that one looks like a giraffe, but after much jibing from Brooke, they come to the conclusion that maybe it’s just a big tree.
> 
> Vanessa unpacks the spread they’d gotten from the hotel kitchen as Brooke fiddles with the little wireless radio she apparently just always keeps in her suitcase. This fact had caused Vanessa to laugh for a solid five minutes when Brooke had put it in the picnic basket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

They’re dancing - or at least trying to dance. The clock hand has just made it’s way past ten, and Vanessa’s head rests gently on Brooke’s chest as she sways them around in a rudimentary waltz. Their bodies are pressed together in a way that sparks warmth down past Vanessa’s navel and it only makes her push closer to Brooke’s tall form. The blonde has one warm hand pressed against the small of Vanessa’s back and the brunette mewls softly at the ministrations of Brooke’s fingers. She places an open mouth kiss on Brooke’s exposed clavicle and goes back to the mindless swaying. 

They’d been trying to recreate a more dramatic dance, but the day they’d had, filled with nothing much, had left them exhausted to the point of just swaying together.

“We should finish this tomorrow,” Brooke whispers into the loose waves of Vanessa’s hair as if ‘this’ was anything at all. Vanessa mumbles in response, causing Brooke to scoop her into her arms and carry her across the room to the bed. She’s dressed only in one of Brooke’s large white shirts, buttoned over a pair of black panties, and it exposes the lengths of Vanessa’s legs. 

“31 inches of therapy,” Brooke mumbles to herself in a half-joke as she unbuttons the shirt. She takes off her own (better fitting) shirt and shifts, so she is under the covers, Vanessa's head on her chest.

“G'night, Ness,” she whispers, but the brunette is already softly snoring. She presses a kiss to her forehead and tries to sleep herself.

*

Brooke wakes naturally with the rising sun, but she still enjoys Vanessa clinging to her like an oversized koala. They didn’t shut the curtains, so the Sun illuminates the brunette in a golden light making her look almost ethereal. She stretches like a cat, eyes screwed shut as Brooke giggles to herself. 

“Morning, sunshine,” she quips, and Vanessa frowns, eyes still closed. 

“Shut up,” she says, voice hoarse in the morning. She snuggles back against Brooke’s side and sighs deeply. “It’s such a nice day,” she tells her and then, opening her eyes to peek up at Brooke’s face, “can you not go to work?”

Brooke lets out a throaty chuckle and sets down the email she’d been working on. “Me?” She asks jokingly. “Not work?” Then she softens. “I do own the company, and it is a nice day.” She points out, and Vanessa nods lazily against her chest. 

She sighs and tries to make it sound begrudging, but even then there is a lightness to it. “I’ll email Ru.”

*

They end up in a big park, laying on a picnic blanket and watching the clouds go by. There aren’t many, but the few there are have fun interpretations. Vanessa is briefly convinced that one looks like a giraffe, but after much jibing from Brooke, they come to the conclusion that maybe it’s just a big tree.

Vanessa unpacks the spread they’d gotten from the hotel kitchen as Brooke fiddles with the little wireless radio she apparently just always keeps in her suitcase. This fact had caused Vanessa to laugh for a solid five minutes when Brooke had put it in the picnic basket. 

When it switches onto ‘What the Folk’, Vanessa erupts into another fit of laughter, head falling back onto Brooke’s lap - hair in a halo around her.

They eat strawberries with the juices running down their wrists, sticky and saccharine sweet.

The sun warms their cheeks just enough to alert the freckles on Brooke’s nose that blush a copper tone. Vanessa traces them with a warm finger, light and airy.

When the sun starts to fall from its peak in the sky, they’re laying on the plaid blanket. Vanessa is on her back, eyes closed peacefully while Brooke is propped up on her elbows, quietly reading “Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief”, putting on different voices to imitate the Minotaur. Vanessa snorts.

She sits up so quickly Brooke thinks the world might be on fire - the brunette looking around frantically until she spots what she heard. 

A baby. 

She stands quickly, brushing off her little summer dress and paddling her toes into the grass before running over to the pram. 

Brooke just watches, eyes wide and full of mirth as Vanessa coos over the baby. She can’t see it, but she can see Vanessa’s face and it makes her cheeks hurt.

Vanessa pads back over a few minutes later, falling back onto the blanket with a harumph. She turns her head, so she can see Brooke and smiles serenely.

“God, it was so cute, Brooke,” she exhales, going back to watching the way the clouds move. “I want a baby.”

Brooke snorts, eyes widening. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,” she quips, making a vague gesture to her lack of a penis and Vanessa giggles.

*

At about three, when Vanessa’s legs are a pleasant shade of pink and the back of Brooke’s neck is dripping beads of sweat, they head to a nearby coffee shop. They pick a table outside - with wire chairs that will leave indents in Vanessa’s bare thighs, but the table is shaded and not indoors and stuffy, so it’s a win. They order iced coffees and let the condensation roll down their fingers.

They feed each other macaroons and watch the people stroll down the street in their shorts and t-shirts, rolling their eyes at the occasional shirtless men. 

By the time they think about dinner, Vanessa is sleepy from the sun so Brooke calls for the car and the brunette curls into her side. Brooke smiles, soft and sweet and the kind that is entirely private.

Vanessa perks up again as they near Olympic and taps at Brooke’s arm to get her attention. 

“What's with you? You're fidgeting. What's wrong?” She asks, eyebrows scrunched as she looks quizzically at Vanessa. 

“Um,” She shifts uncomfortably, “there's a club up here that I'd like to stop at for a second to see my roommate if that's okay?” Brooke hasn’t seen her this uncomfortable in days. 

“Absolutely,” she replies, smiling, trying to reassure.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Darryl, can you just pull up into the back alleyway please?” The driver, Darryl, looks bemused in the mirror.

“Trixie’s?” He asks, tone vaguely joking.

“Trixie’s,” Brooke affirms. 

“Very colourful life you lead,” he quips.

Vanessa leans into Brooke, pushing a chaste kiss onto her cheek. “I just wanna run in for a minute and see if she's there, so you just stay here,” she tells her before she jumps out of the cab and runs into the club.

“I’m hoping they don’t spot this limousine as it is,” Brooke mutters, and Darryl sticks his head around the chair and smiles at her. 

“I’ll block it with my body,” he sighs and she believes him.

*

Katya spots her the second she steps through the door and it doesn’t surprise Vanessa - she’s pretty sure she looks out of place in her dainty summer dress and kitten heels. Katya is dressed in fishnets, shorts, and a red lace bralette.

“Ness! You’re looking good! You win the lottery?” Katya jokes, swinging an arm around Vanessa's neck and pressing her red lips against her cheek. “Me and Trix have missed you round here!”

Vanessa smiles at her and it’s genuine. She hates that she feels out of place in the place that used to be her home. “Hey, Kat, have you seen Silk?” She asks, voice soft.

“No, not since Tuesday,” Katya replies with her eyebrows quirked.

They wander over to the bar which has Trixie leaning against it - tea towel thrown over her pink crop top. “Heya, hunnie,” she says with her eyes crinkled and warm. Her southern twang always makes Vanessa feel warm. 

“You seen Silk?” Vanessa asks earnestly.

“I think she went to Santa Barbara,” Trixie tells her with her teeth pressed into her bottom lip. 

Vanessa grins at the information. “Brilliant!” She announces enthusiastically, waving a hand when Trixie tries to offer her a tequila shot. “Here's my number where I'm gonna be for the rest of the week. Have her call me, okay?”

“Okay, hunnie,” Trixie tells her with a motherly pat on the shoulder, and Vanessa beams at her because there aren’t enough words to say what Trixie and Katya have done for her.

She steps out of the club feeling fulfilled, but immediately reaches a scene of Brooke and Darryl standing outside the Limo with a kid in a bandanna. 

“What’s going on out here?” She asks, a lot more jovial than the situation asks for. 

Brooke scowls at her amusement. “I don't know. You left and all of a sudden I'm in the middle of ‘West Side Story’,” she quips, and it makes Vanessa chuckle. 

The kid in the bandanna turns and Vanessa sees it’s one of the ones who run up and down the street stealing the girls’ money. He looks at the envelope she’d been meaning to give to Silky and smirks. “I think you owe me some money, baby,” he tells her and she goes against Brooke’s violent head shaking by just raising her eyebrow.

She holds up the envelope. “Two hundred dollars,” she tells him, and he eyes it carefully. She knows she’s scrappy, but she also lost her acrylic nails, so she’s a little less confident in her ability to take this dude if he fucks with her.

“Don’t you got school tomorrow?” She asks mockingly and he makes a noise close to a hiss.

“Let’s just leave,” Brooke tries to say calmly, but she’s clearly never been mugged by a teen with a knife before because her voice shakes. 

“You ain’t goin’ no place,” the kid tells them.

“Hey-”

“You're outta your neighbourhood. This ain't no Beverly Hills!” Vanessa almost laughs, but she catches herself. This is more real than she thought. 

“He has a knife,” Brooke mutters to Darryl and he places his hand in the inside pocket of his jacket.

“All right, okay,” Darryl steps up and his size appears to intimidate the kid slightly. “This is what’s going to happen. You believe she owes you money?”

“That’s right.” 

“Why?”

“‘Cause this is my block.”

“His block?” Brooke asks, and she still can’t keep her voice smooth. Vanessa looks at her like you look at a sad puppy.

“He’s a drug dealer and a mugger. It has to do with Silky,” Vanessa clears up.

The kid doesn’t seem happy with the conversation going on in the middle of his mugging, so he raises his knife again prompting Darryl to pull the small handgun from his left pocket. 

The kid runs and Brooke collapses against the car.

“Damn, Darryl,” Vanessa quips, eyes shocked, but still entertained. She rubs a soothing hand on Brooke’s back as the woman catches her breath. For someone who has been around criminals before she’s panicking like someone who’s never been at odds with a knife. Vanessa supposes she might not have been. 

“I have a license, don’t worry,” Darryl tells her, putting the safety back on the gun and placing it securely back in his pocket. 

Once they’re comfortably back in the car, Vanessa lets her head fall on Brooke’s shoulder again. 

“Does Darryl always carry a gun?” She asks, and Brooke intertwines their fingers.

“When he drives me, yes, always.”

*

Vanessa steps into the bedroom as Brooke naps. They both ate their dinner in robes and then Vanessa watched “Beauty and the Beast” while Brooke disappeared to the bedroom and never returned.

“She sleeps,” she quips as Brooke shifts, eyes fluttering open and a lazy smile trailing across her face.

“Well we all have our issues,” Brooke rebukes, and Vanessa moves across the room to sit with her on the bed. With Vanessa sat up, Brooke places her head on her lap and lets Vanessa card her fingers through her hair.

Brooke mocks snoring and it makes Vanessa chuckle, slowing her hand movements. 

They end up looking into each other’s eyes for a little too long, and maybe it’s because they were frightened with the mugging or maybe the day just made them vulnerable, but they find themselves leaning in before they can stop themselves.

Their lips meet soft and slow - open-mouthed. It sets butterflies loose in Vanessa’s belly, warming her from the inside as she deepens it.

Brooke finally lets her go, pecking her on the nose with a shallow exhale. Her heart is pounding and it rattles in her ribcage.

Later, when she thinks Vanessa is asleep, she whispers ‘I love you’.

If Vanessa hears, she doesn’t make a sound.


	13. chapter 13. an open heart is an open wound to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanessa shakes her head, sighing to herself. “When I was a little girl,” she starts, smiling at the memory, “my mama used to lock me in the attic when I was naughty. I was there often - but it wasn’t bad. I used to pretend I was a princess, trapped in a tower by a wicked queen. And then suddenly this knight, on a white horse with these colours flying, would come charging up and draw their sword. And I would wave. And they would climb up the tower and rescue me.” She looks out across Los Angeles and then to Brooke, whose face is indecipherable. “When I grew up I realised I didn’t need to be rescued, but I still wanted the fairytale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God we're almost at the end. This has been going for over a year and I'm almost scared? It's going to be weird not having the doc open constantly lmao. Thanks to frey for being my ever wonderful beta and all the branjie stans who still like this! 
> 
> enjoy! <3

They wake quietly, a sense of unease seeping through the crack under the curtains along with the daylight. Brooke orders breakfast while Vanessa showers (an unspoken agreement), and the shorter woman enters the dining room in an expensive robe to the sight of Brooke - newspaper in hand, coffee in front of her. She’s ordered Vanessa a smoothie bowl and a croissant and Vanessa smiles gratefully at the gesture. 

She sips at her water and watches as Brooke methodically turns the pages. She’d woken up with Brooke already gone and she’s not concerned per say, but maybe confused. 

“Whatcha been doin’ out here alone?” She asks, eyes softening as Brooke lowers the newspaper. She looks tired.

“Just thinking that this will be our last night together, then you’ll be rid of me,” Brooke admits, almost reluctantly. There’s a melancholy to her words and it soothes Vanessa a little to know that neither are wholly happy about this. 

Vanessa smiles, trying to lighten the situation. “Well, you’ve not been the easiest,” she jokes, and it almost brings Brooke to chuckle. They share another smile before they both go silent, eating and drinking.

By the end of the meal Brooke seems to have collected herself, there’s a guard up that Vanessa hasn’t seen since the dinner and she hasn’t missed it. The blonde seems colder, more unfeeling - as if they haven’t exchanged vulnerability and expensive gifts through the week. It’s unsettling.

“Once this is over I’m heading back to Canada,” Brooke tells her, and it’s like a rod is forced up Vanessa's spine. She sits tall and straight like if she wobbles, she will fall off a tightrope, and if she’s being honest - every breath feels dangerous. There’s a pause and then Brooke follows with, “I’d like to see you again.” And against everything she knows, Vanessa still smiles.

“You would?” She asks like it is too good to be true. Her mama always told her not to trust big businessmen, but Brooke Lynn is a lady. Mama never said nothing about ladies.

“Yes,” Brooke tells her like it’s obvious. And then she switches, because Vanessa still isn’t sure the blonde understands that people can love without money. “I would, so I've arranged for you to have an apartment, to have a car, a wide variety of stores guaranteed to suck up to you anytime you want to go shopping.” Vanessa almost grimaces because this is not what she wanted. “Everything is sorted.”

“It is?” Vanessa asks because it’s like Brooke has gone down a tick list and just ticked it all. No consultation, just fixing all her problems like she’s some helpless damsel - which she isn’t. She refuses to be helpless. “What else?” She exhales, palm finding her forehead. “You just gonna leave money on the dresser whenever you pass through town?” Brooke winces like her words hurt, but Vanessa just shrugs it off, because someday she will need to learn these things. 

“Vanessa,” Brooke responds, quiet, too quiet. “It wouldn’t be like that.” It’s quiet and earnest, but Vanessa cannot believe it true. 

“Yeah? What would it be?”

“Well for one thing it would get you off the streets.” This is the point where Vanessa stands up because this is the point where Brooke has truly hit a nerve. She’s trying to save her when Vanessa does not need saving, and she wants to tell her as much, but she cannot find the right words. 

“That’s just geography, Brooke Lynn!” She almost shouts, because she’s angry. She storms out onto the balcony and hopes that Brooke won’t follow her, because she just needs the cold air to bring her back to herself. 

To her credit, Brooke manages to wait a few minutes. When she does come out, she stands next to Vanessa, arms braced against the cool concrete balustrades. 

“What do you want from me, Ness?” She asks and for a second Vanessa sees the same Brooke who smiled as she watched her eat ice cream at the ballet. “I can give you money, stability, whatever you want.”

Vanessa shakes her head, sighing to herself. “When I was a little girl,” she starts, smiling at the memory, “my mama used to lock me in the attic when I was naughty. I was there often - but it wasn’t bad. I used to pretend I was a princess, trapped in a tower by a wicked queen. And then suddenly this knight, on a white horse with these colours flying, would come charging up and draw their sword. And I would wave. And they would climb up the tower and rescue me.” She looks out across Los Angeles and then to Brooke, whose face is indecipherable. “When I grew up I realised I didn’t need to be rescued, but I still wanted the fairytale.”

She scoffs. “But never, never in those dreams did the knight tell me they’d put me up in a condo and pay my bills.” Brooke gulps, teeth pressing into her bottom lip. She stares at Vanessa. “That ain’t a fairytale. That’s a saviour complex.”

Brooke opens her mouth to respond, but her phone rings and she digs into her pocket to answer it immediately, putting a finger up for Vanessa to just wait a few minutes. 

“Ru?” She answers, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I just got off the phone with Cain. Get this. She wants to meet with you today.” Brooke shakes her head in an effort to think a little clearer. 

“What about?”

“She wouldn't say. Brooke, I think we got her. She’s on the block.” 

“We got her!” Brooke exclaims, laughing in relief. 

“Look, if she's really caving in, I want to get her to commit her stocks to us this afternoon,” Ru tells her, and Brooke sighs, glancing at Vanessa before she makes her next move.

“No, it's no good,” she relents. “If she's really caving in, I don't want to wait 'till this afternoon. Have Cain meet me downtown this morning. Good bye.” She hangs up with a definitive tap and slips the phone back into the pocket of her slacks. Vanessa looks at her with questions in her eyes, and Brooke just huffs an exhale.

“I have to go now,” she tells her, almost apologetically, “but I want you to understand that I heard everything you said. This is all I’m capable of right now, and it’s a really big step for me.” Her eyes are wide again, and honest too, and they make Vanessa’s insides twist uncomfortably.

“I know,” she sighs, fingers massaging at her temples. A curl of still wet hair falls onto her cheek and she tucks it back behind her ear. “It’s a really good offer for a girl like me.”

“I’ve never treated you like a prostitute,” Brooke tells her.

Vanessa purses her lips and sighs out a long exhale. 

“You just did.”

*

Brooke’s been gone little over ten minutes when the phone rings. Vanessa has been darting around the hotel room, drying her hair and slipping on a pair of plaid trousers with a white shirt tucked in. She pinches one of Brooke’s vintage looking watches and slides it onto her wrist. 

When the jarring sound of the phone cuts through Janelle Monae's singing, she pads across the room, picking up the phone with a huff of breath. 

“It’s Nina West here, Miss Vanessa,” comes Nina’s tone, warm like honey, and Vanessa relaxes slightly picturing the matronly woman. “Could you come down to the front desk? There’s someone here who wants to speak to you.” She gives a pause clearly meants for Vanessa’s response, but the brunette’s mind is racing through anyone who would want to talk to her at the moment and she misses the cue. “She says her name is ‘Miss Ganache’,” Nina adds, and Vanessa lets out a sigh of relief. 

“Could you just let me talk to her, Nins?” She asks, trying to do the vocal equivalent of fluttering her eyelashes. “Pleeeease.” She hears Nina let out a weary exhale and smiles, knowing she’s gotten her way.

There’s the noise of the phone being handed over and then Silky’s voice comes booming through. “Yo, Ness, babe. Would you come down here? The sphincter police won't let me through.” She tells Vanessa, and the brunette just smacks her palm to her forehead with a sigh, chuckling to herself. 

“Sure.”

“Okay, she’s coming down,” Silky says, although it is clearly meant for Nina, and Vanessa slips on a pair of low heels.

When she reaches the front desk, Nina looks exhausted despite it only being a little past nine in the morning. Silky is dressed in a pair of cut off shorts and a white tank top, leaning against the antique looking front desk like she’s not aware she’s horribly out of place. Vanessa feels awful for thinking as much, knowing how she felt less than a week ago, but she’s also dressed like the wife of a respectable lawyer, so she decides nothing less can be expected.

Courtney tells Nina something about a window washer and the woman looks towards Vanessa. “Watch her,” she says, pointing at Silky, and Vanessa laughs, raising a hand in mock salute.

“Nina, yes, Nina,” she jokes and Nina just shakes her head, bemused.

Silky gives her a once over before pulling her into a hug. “Listen, I've been calling you,” Vanessa says while grabbing her hand, guiding her towards a back door that opens into a gorgeous looking garden, where she reckons they can sit and talk a bit easier. 

“Yeah, I know, they told me at Trixie’s,” Silky responds while they walk, and Vanessa furrows her brow as if to tell Silky that that answers exactly nothing.

“You were supposed to come by Tuesday. I left money at the desk.”

“I was hiding from Ra’Jah.”

“Well, if you picked up the money, you wouldn’t have to hide, bitch.”

“I was busy. I got a life.” They fall onto a bench surrounded by lilacs. It faces a fountain and the water twinkles in the morning sun. “Marco got beat up. We had to visit him in the hospital, Morgan got arrested. It was a mess. Anyway, I got the money. Thank you very much for saving my ass. Now Ra’Jah can get off of it.” Vanessa has to laugh at her friend's blunt way of putting things.

“Shit for Marco,” Vanessa states lamely. She doesn’t really know him that well. Just a pot dealer by Trixie’s.

“You know, he was talkin' about you last night,” Silky tells her, and Vanessa slumps in her seat jokingly. She rolls her eyes. “He would bust somethin' if he saw you in this outfit.”

“Yeah?” She asks, eyes widening at the statement.

“I was afraid to hug you up there. I might wrinkle you! But yeah, you clean up real nice.”

“Well, thank you, big Silks.”

“You sure don't fit in down on the Boulevard lookin' like you do, not that you ever did.” Just because Vanessa knows this is true, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Well, thanks, but it's easy to clean up when you got money.” 

“Yeah,” Silky sighs, looking down at her own clothes. They make quite a pair, sat in an expensive hotel’s garden together. Vanessa is starting to realise she will never fit in on Olympic anymore.

They sit in a pleasant silence for a few minutes, just watching as butterflies flutter around the plants.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Silky asks, but it’s less of a question and more a statement of fact.

“Silky!” Vanessa exclaims, because it is the least explanatory answer she can give. 

“You’ve fallen in love with her,” Silky sing-songs again, and Vanessa shoves her playfully.

“Silk, Please.”

“Did you kiss her? On the mouth?”

“Uh, yeah, I did,” Vanessa retorts like she’s proud of it (which she is) and like she would do it again (she would).

“You kissed her on the mouth?” Silky asks in indignation.

“I did,” Vanessa replies again, a blush travelling across her cheeks. “It was nice.”

“You’re in love and you kissed her on the mouth. Does my teaching mean nothing to you?” Vanessa rolls her eyes and gives Silky another push. 

“Look, I’m not fucking dumb okay. I’m-- I’m not in love with her. I just like her,” she tries to explain it, but she just sounds like a confused and whiny teen. Silky looks at her disparagingly.

“You like her?”

“Yeah.”

“You definitely like her?” Vanessa knows the chip Silky has on her shoulder about people like Brooke and she gets it. The more human Brooke shows her, the more Brooke seems completely incapable of separating money from love, but Vanessa still likes her.

“Well,, she’s not a bum. She’s rich, and classy.” Silky raises an eyebrow, and Vanessa sighs. “Who’s gonna break my heart. Right.”

Silky winces at having crushed Vanessa’s spirit. “I mean, it could work. It happens,” she tries to add, but Vanessa just raises a single eyebrow.

“When? When does it happen, Silky?” Silky squints trying to think, and Vanessa cuts in again. “Did it work out for Skinny Marie or Rachel? No.”

Silky makes a face like she’s about to laugh. “Well,” she draws out, “those were some very specific cases of crackheads and one very drunk police officer.” They laugh together for a few seconds and then it peters out. 

“I just wanna know my chances, who it works out for,” she tells her, quieter now.

“Trixie and Kat--”

“Doesn’t count. Give me a name.”

“Oh, god, the pressure of a name.”

“Cinder-fuckin-ella.”

They burst into peals of laughter again, Vanessa’s head eventually lands on Silky’s shoulder. Silky shrugs it just to bounce Vanessa’s head and gets an elbow in her ribs.

“When does she leave?” Silky asks, voice low to match the mood of the question, and Vanessa appreciates it.

“Tomorrow.”

Silky rubs soft circles into Vanessa’s arm and just lets the woman sit in her sadness. She reckons she needs it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: @pink-grapefruit-cafe


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke walks into the meeting room, hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, blazer slung over her arm. California is too hot for her, and she’s regretting the thickness of her oxford shirts. The room is full of men with the exception of Shuga and Yvie, and Brooke finds it abhorrent, but she rolls her shoulders back and remembers that not everywhere can be as equal as her office up in Canada. Ru sits by the head of the table, looking faintly smug. She wants to wipe it off his face. She is not in the mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely can't believe this is the penultimate chapter. I'm writing the last one at the moment and it's going to be so weird to have it all out in the ether - especially when I've been writing it since last april. I cannot think y'all enough for your continued support and I hope you love these last few chapters as much as I do <3

Brooke walks into the meeting room, hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, blazer slung over her arm. California is too hot for her, and she’s regretting the thickness of her oxford shirts. The room is full of men with the exception of Shuga and Yvie, and Brooke finds it abhorrent, but she rolls her shoulders back and remembers that not everywhere can be as equal as her office up in Canada. Ru sits by the head of the table, looking faintly smug. She wants to wipe it off his face. She is not in the mood.

He rises to his feet to shake her hands, body facing Shuga Cain’s. “Ms Cain,” he addresses. His hands are clammy, and Brooke despises it. She stands behind her chair. “You said this morning that you wished to speak to Ms Hytes.” Shuga gives Brooke a warm smile, and Brooke nods in return, smile tighter and face a little pinched. Yvie looks concerned, and Brooke doesn’t blame her.

“Miss Hytes is now listening,” she jokes, motioning for them all to take their seats again and she pulls her chair in, so she can lean her elbows comfortably on the table. She pulls the contracts and paperwork out of her briefcase and smiles as a pink post-it from Vanessa falls out. ‘Smile,’ it says, and she does.

Shuga also leans forward, expensive lilac blazer creasing on the wooden table. “I’ve reconsidered my position on your acquisition offer,” she says - the only hint of nerves coming from the way Yvie shifts in her seat. Brooke nods, but Shuga cuts in before she can speak. “I have one condition. I’m not so concerned about me, but the people who work for me.” She winces - it’s clear she cares, and Brooke relents a little - not that she was particularly in the mood to go in for the kill.

“It’s not a problem,” she assures, “they’ll be taken care of.”

Ru pulls himself closer to the desk and places his hands firmly on the table in an effort to gather the attention of the room. “Well then, ladies,” he says 'ladies' as if the word is foreign to him in this setting. “If we could address ourselves to the contracts in front of you.” He passes out the papers, and the men sat around the table read it swiftly before placing it back down. Yvie, Brooke, and Shuga take a little longer. 

He coughs impatiently and starts to speak again, “if you look at--”

“Excuse me, Ru,” Brooke cuts in and he scowls at her. Slightly red in the face, he nods. She takes a deep breath. “Gentlemen, I’d like to talk to Ms Cain alone.” She says it in a way that lets Yvie know she can stay, but the tall woman still takes her leave with the rest of the huffing disgruntled paralegals and lawyers. Shuga raises a carefully drawn on eyebrow, and Brooke can see a smile in the corners of her eyes. Ru hovers by the door and Brooke stares him down. “You too, Ru,” she states sternly.

He chuckles nervously. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean I would like to speak to Ms Cain. Alone.” She’s stood right in front of him now, hand resting on the back of Shuga’s chair. She shoos him with her free hand. 

“I’ll be right outside.”

“Good.”

She lets out a sigh of relief once the door closes. It’s heavy duty, sound proof and without a window, so she slips the heels off, which have already given her a blister, and pads over to the coffee maker, humming contentedly. 

“Coffee?” She asks, nonchalantly, and Shuga chuckles. 

“Black, no sugar,” she replies, and Brooke makes two black coffees. She takes one of the vacated seats much closer to Shuga and shifts uncomfortably at the warmth lingering there.

After a moment of silence, she exhales through her nose, pushing the air out forcefully. “Ms Cain,” she starts, and Shuga nods for her to continue. “My interests in your company have changed.”

She’s not sure if it’s the coffee or the air of rebellion, but her heart is beating rapidly. Shuga sets her coffee down and leans her elbows on the table, leaning into the proposition. “What is it you’re after now, Miss Hytes?” she asks, weary, but also somewhat curious.

“Well, I no longer wish to buy your company and take it apart,” she tells her. She rapps her fingers on the desk. “But I don’t want anyone else to either,” she admits a little sheepishly. “And it is still extremely vulnerable. So I find myself in an unfamiliar territory.” She leans back in the chair in an attempt to release the tension in her back. She appears to be finding herself in a lot of unfamiliar territories at the moment, and it’s certainly hurting her.

“I want to help,” she eventually comes up with, and it feels almost dirty as it leaves her mouth. She’s always wanted to help people, but usually she does it by tearing them apart. Or at least that’s what she tells herself.

Shuga studies her, steel grey eyes looking deep into hers in a way that makes Brooke want to shrink back. 

“Why?”

“I think we could do something very special with your company,” Brooke replies honestly. She has plans. She hopes Shuga will let her explain them.

“What about our hospitals? And our shares?” Shuga asks, confused, but definitely intrigued now. Brooke has her hooked.

“Not dead so much as delayed.” She winces. “I lied.”

Shuga takes in her clear discomfort with the topic and laughs. “You’re very good at that,” she remarks, and Brooke very briefly marvels at her ability to take everything in her stride. She thinks of Vanessa’s post-it and she smiles.

“It’s my job,” she rebukes, chuckling. “I think we can leave the details to the others,” Brooke decides, not all too pleased about the idea, but also knowing she’s outlined it all thoroughly enough in between hours of fitful sleep for it to be almost perfect.

Shuga places a warm hand on Brooke's, and the blonde is taken back to her own kitchen table for a second, with her own mother. “I find this hard to say without sounding condescending, but I’m proud of you,” Shuga tells her, so sincerely that Brooke has to swallow the lump in her throat.

She’s not sure anyone but her therapist has ever been proud of her.

“Thank you.” It’s as genuine as she can make it and she squeezes Shuga’s hand tightly. “I think we can let the suits in now.”

She opens the door and lets them all in, pleased to only hear a few grumbles at the apparent waste of time. Moving back to her seat, she slams both palms onto the table and leans in. 

“Change of plan, gentlemen,” she tells them with a smirk, much to Ru’s outrage. 

He waves the contracts in confusion, “these aren’t signed.” He tells her indignantly. “These aren’t signed. Could someone please tell me what the fuck is going on here?” He aims it at Shuga as if he cannot deal with Brooke anymore, and the older woman just smirks.

“Miss Hytes and I are going to build hospitals together,” she tells him definitively. 

“Great, big hospitals,” Brooke adds with a cocky smile (it’s all for show, but she’s enjoying rebellion much more than she did as a twenty-something in a pageant dress).

Ru swallows hard before throwing his hands up in the air dramatically. “You know what?” He seethes. “I’m going for a walk.”

Brooke just flutters her fingers in a wave as he storms out, flipping him the middle finger as soon as he’s out of view. 

*

There’s a knock on the suite door and Vanessa looks up from the TV, the twinkling music of the end of “Snow White” playing in the background. She brushes down her short black skirt and makes sure the sleeveless shirt is tucked in - something about good impressions, like Brooke would tell her.

She opens it apprehensively, confused at the lack of an announcement from the staff member outside, but instead finds Ru stood at the door. He pushes it open, letting himself in without asking, and Vanessa takes a step back.

“Well, well, well. Hi again, I’m looking for Brooke,” he tells her, but it’s said like a question, eyes darting around the suite. She shakes her head, eyes crinkling in confusion. 

“Brooke’s not here,” she tells him. “I thought she was with you?” Now he’s stood in front of her in a well tailored suit and brogues, she’s truly intimidated by his stature. He’s tall and thin, but it still feels like he could snap her like a twig. 

“Well, she’s definitely not with me,” he chuckles, leaning a hand on the sideboard. “No, if Brooke were with me- actually, when Brooke was with me, she didn’t blow off billion dollar deals!” He rubs his hand up and down his face in agitation and then motions towards the mini bar. “Do you mind?” He asks, and Vanessa just shakes her head, pulling her skirt under herself as she sits on the edge of the sofa. He takes a seat on the other side, sinking into it before leaning forward, elbows on his thighs.

He’s drinking a mini vodka and Vanessa scrunches up her nose in distaste.

“I’ll just wait,” he tells her lamely.

“She’ll be back soon - any minute, she’ll be home.” She tries to sound confident, but she’s becoming increasingly uneasy. She’s twisting the gold band on her left middle finger in a way that’s starting to burn her skin, but it’s grounding her.

He laughs at what she says and she tilts her head. It wasn’t funny. He sees her confusion and raises the Vodka in a gesture of sorts. “This isn’t a home, you know?” He jibes, and even if it was meant as comedy, it feels cold. “It’s a hotel room, and you’re not,” he waves a hand in her general direction, “the little house woman. You’re a hooker.” 

He drains the bottle, and she finds herself unable to speak, shifting closer to the edge of the couch. 

“Maybe you’re a very good hooker,” he tells her, leaning back now, eyes trained on the ceiling. “Maybe if I do you, then I wouldn't care about losing millions of dollars.” She feels physically sick and she tries to will Brooke into the room - hoping they’ve developed some sort of psychic link that will save her. She lied. She wants to be saved right now. He faces her, and she has to stop herself from gagging. “I have to be very honest with you. Right now, Vanessa, I really do care. I’m really pissed. I am just freaking out.” He wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs and moves closer to her, and she cannot move. 

“So maybe if I just screw you, huh, and take you to the ballet, then I could be a happy guy. Just. Like. Brooke.” He punctuates each word by moving closer until she can smell the vodka on his warm breath, and she mentally curses Brooke for not letting her wear the thigh-highs with the razor blade in the top seam.

He sets his hand on her thigh, climbing onto the sofa to get the upper ground, and Vanessa is suddenly squirming beneath him. “No!” She shouts. “No, get off me!”

“How much do you want? Twenty, Thirty?” He taunts, and she keeps shaking her head so he can’t get purchase on her. “Fifty?” He exclaims, outraged like he’s the one being wronged. “You’re a money whore, Vanessa.” 

“Get OFF!” She screams at the top of her lungs, and he puts his forearm under her chin to stop her from moving. He’s like a spider, and her skin is crawling. She tried to use her knee to disarm him, but he catches on what she’s doing. “Get off of me!” She shouts again, and then he punches her.

It hits just below her right eye, straight on her cheekbone, and, god, it feels like he’s shattered something. She can already tell it’ll bloom purple. He uses the time he’s gained to move the arm from her chin to her exposed thigh.

“STOP!” She screeches again, voice starting to crack. She doesn’t realise Brooke has entered until Ru is being hauled off her with a bloody nose.

She curls up on the couch as Brooke yells at him, only hearing her shout for him to ‘get the fuck out’. 

*

Brooke gets some ice and wraps it in a towel, placing it over the bruise, her other hand resting on the small of Vanessa’s back. Vanessa grumbles, but she leans into the touch - the ice soothing the throbbing pain. 

“Why do men always know exactly where to hit a girl?” She grumbles, thinking about what a pain it’s going to be to cover up, and Brooke chuckles at her candor. “It’s like ‘wham’, and your eye feels like it’s gonna explode.”

Brooke rubs her back again apologetically. “I heard what you did with Cain,” Vanessa tells her, eyes wide and proud.

“It was a business decision,” Brooke tries to deflect, but Vanessa places her hand on her thigh to stop her.

“It was good.”

“It felt good,” she admits with a small smile. “I’m breaking off from Ru. Hytes will be its own firm from now on.” 

“I’m proud of you,” Vanessa tells her earnestly, and Brooke revels in the way it warms her from the inside out. She’s beginning to wonder if all this pride and praise is going to damage her cold exterior.

Vanessa takes the ice pack from her face and sighs, rising to her feet. “I think this is good,” she says, nodding, teeth digging into her bottom lip. “I gotta get going.” She takes a few steps and makes it to the carpeted step that separates the entrance from the main living space. She doesn’t fight it when Brooke pulls her down to sit on the step.

“I noticed you’ve packed,” Brooke sighs with a weak smile. “Why are you leaving now?”

Vanessa blinks slowly, taking Brooke’s cold hands in her own as she looks at her - really looks at her. “Brooke, there’ll always be some guy, even some friend of yours thinking they can treat me like Ru.” She tilts her head. “What’re you gonna do? Break all their noses?” 

“That’s not why you’re leaving,” Brooke tells her, and they both know it’s true.

Something breaks in Vanessa and it hurts. 

“You made me a really nice offer,” she tells Brooke with a slow exhale. “A few months ago I woulda agreed. No problem. But everything is different now - you know it. You can’t change it back.” She wants to add that she wouldn’t change it. Not a single thing. She wants to keep the week in a glass snow globe, so she can shake it and revisit it like a holiday on a remote island. But the thing about holidays is they’re meant to end. “I want more,” she says, and there are tears welling up in her eyes. 

“I know about wanting more,” Brooke tells her, voice low and full of emotion. “I invented the concept. The question is how much more?”

“I want the fairytale,” she says, voice breaking. She sniffles, but keeps her eyes on Brooke’s.

“My special gift is impossible relationships.” Brooke breaks the gaze. She can’t look at her anymore or she’ll drown in those Brown eyes. She doesn’t want to leave them to begin with. She swallows the lump in her throat and lets go of her hands, wiping the clamminess on her slacks.

Brooke hands her a wad of cash - it’s her payment. It feels dirty almost, as Vanessa’s fingers wrap around it. She stuffs it in her pocket before she can think too deeply.

“Thank you,” Vanessa says. It doesn’t encompass everything she wants to say, but it's the only thing that won’t result in her sobbing.

“You’re welcome,” Brooke sighs as they rise to their feet, Vanessa picking up her two suitcases, both filled with brand new clothes. “If you need anything - dental floss, whatever - give me a call.” The both laugh, and it feels like that first night was months ago, when really it was less than a week. 

“I had a good time.”

“Me too.”

Brooke goes to open the door, but she puts her hand on it firmly. She sighs and turns to face Vanessa one last time. “Stay,” she asks, and her voice is hoarse and broken. “Stay the night with me, not because I’m paying you, but because you want to.” She looks like a lost puppy all of a sudden, and Vanessa wants to cave so much, that she forces herself to stand straighter.

“I can’t.” And it looks like it hurts when she says it. “Goodbye, Brooke Lynn.”

She’s a few feet out of the door when she turns. “I think you have lots of special gifts.”

Brooke smiles. And then she cries.


	15. chapter 15. pretty woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Darryl is out front with the limousine,” Nina says, handing the AmEx card back. “Come again soon.”
> 
> They’ve been friends for a long time, and yet they always let the professional pretenses slide up again. Brooke is starting to think it’s a defence mechanism for her, so she squeezes Nina’s hand in a way that tries to convey love and gratitude and the knowledge that she can be relied on. 
> 
> They nod at each other before Brooke turns to the door, and Nina may or may not watch her walk away. Brooke would too - her ass looks fantastic in the slacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - I genuinely cannot believe this is over. I’ve been writing it for 14 months, posting it for 11 and it’s become an integral part of who I am on this platform. I’m not being dramatic here - it’s been formative in my writing and i’m so proud of writing an almost 35K fic. Thank you to Frey for being here the whole time and loving it even when I found it hard to love and thank you all for sticking around. Please tell me what you think of it - what you’ve thought the whole time and stick around to see what i’ll come up with next.  
I love you all! <3

Vanessa stands in the lobby. She wonders if she looks as lost as she feels - just standing there - waiting for someone to call her out or tell her to leave or ask her to stay. She holds her bags with purpose, though she’s not sure what that is yet. Luckily, Nina seems to think she looks pretty lost too, and she stands next to her, just watching the world keep turning outside the hotel entrance.

Vanessa looks at her and smiles. “Hey Nina.” Her voice is light, but it’s tired.

“Miss Vanessa,” Nina acknowledges, still staring straight ahead, arms clasped in front of her - twiddling her wedding band. 

“I wanted to say goodbye,” Vanessa tells her, and Nina shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips. The brunette has been a nuisance, but she is a nuisance that will be missed dearly.

“I gather you’re not accompanying Miss Hytes back to Canada, then?” Nina asks, her tone bordering on curious, but then again - that would be quite uncouth.

“Come on, Nins,” Vanessa chuckles, “you and me live in the real world… most of the time.” Nina has to laugh at that, and it’s polite, but still manages to reverberate around Vanessa’s heart. They sigh in unison and Vanessa looks towards the outside once more. 

Nina follows her gaze to the taxi station. “Have you arranged for transportation?” Vanessa shakes her head, and so she adds, “allow me,” before pacing back to the desk for a minute or so.

When she returns, she has Darryl at her heel. “Darryl,” she addresses, and it makes Vanessa smile to see what a boss bitch Nina is. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Please, take Miss Vanessa anywhere she wishes to go.” Darryl nods compliantly and stands back while the two women say their goodbyes. It's bittersweet, Nina is the closest thing to a Mama that Vanessa has had since she moved to California (except maybe Trixie, but Trixie would kill her if she ever said it). “It’s been a pleasure,” she tells Vanessa with a small smile. 

Vanessa wants to drop all her bags and hug her, but she refrains, nodding politely. 

“See you around, Nina.”

*

Brooke wakes up the next morning to an empty bed. It shouldn’t shock her, the feeling of the cool linens on the other side of the mattress, she’s the one who made Vanessa leave - at least that’s what she’s telling herself. 

The idea that Vanessa left on her own hurts a little more, that she wouldn’t stay. 

She packs quickly - portable radio and suits and lucky watch all put away with speed, because she feels this urge to get out. She needs air, space, somewhere less reminding of Vanessa. 

She left her bodysuit from the first night. It must have fallen down in the wardrobe and she didn’t check the floor - Brooke wants to laugh at the rookie mistake, but it smells like cigarettes and her, and it makes her want to cry. 

Courtney knocks with a patient smile, and Brooke just lets her in to grab the cases. 

“Is this all?” She asks.

Brooke nods. “Just drop it downstairs, thanks.”

She takes one last sweeping look around the room, hands stuffed in the pockets of her navy slacks. She sighs, looking to the clear door of the mini fridge that reminds her to pay the room service tab before she leaves. Stalking over to it, she pulls out a non-alcoholic beer and takes it onto the balcony, yearning for something that reminds her of Vanessa. She stands, elbows propped on the hard concrete, looking over Los Angeles for longer that she would admit. For the first time she might just miss it - miss her. 

When she finishes the beer, she places it on the side board and leaves, closing the door softly. She doesn’t like to slam doors - likes the idea that she can always open them again and go back. She doesn’t like hard endings. She doesn’t like a definite finish. 

*

Vanessa pulls herself up so she's sitting on the counter of the kitchen she shares with Silky. It’s her spot - the one she would occupy while Silky cooked (or burnt things and then ordered take out). Silky would usually swat at her to get down, tell her she was spoiling the work surface by sticking her ass on it, but Vanessa would just smile sweetly and stick her tongue out, drinking whatever cheap liquor they’d bought and tasting whatever horrible concoction Silky would mix up. 

She misses those days. They were the hard kind of easy, but everything felt worth it. Silky raises an eyebrow at her, hand resting on a tatty suitcase. 

“Chicago ain’t that great, you know,” Vanessa tells her longingly. “It’s cold and foggy and the winters will suck.” Silky just chuckles at her pout, pulling one of the kitchen chairs until she is sat opposite Vanessa. 

“I need to do this, Ness,” she tells her, and it’s the most real and quiet and contemplative Vanessa has ever seen her. “I’ll wear a sweater, don’t you worry.”

Vanessa huffs. “What are you gonna do there?” She complains, not caring how petulant she sounds. 

“Get a job? Finish high school?” Silky offers up, but she’s smiling so much that Vanessa finds it hard not to smile with her. “I’ll miss you, but I need to get out and you gave me the means.”

“So it’s my fault?” Vanessa quips, and Silky hits her thigh playfully. “I’ll miss you too,” she adds softly. She jumps off the counter and moves to rummage around in the bags she’s yet to upack. She finds an envelope and takes a wad of cash from it, holding it out in front of her in a motion for Silky to grab it. 

“What’s this?” 

“The Brooke Lynn Hytes Scholarship fund. We think you got a lot of potential Silky Ganache.” Silky mock salutes her, and they just look at eachother quietly for a minute. 

“I’ll miss you,” Vanessa repeats, eyes watery. 

“I’ll see you again, Vanessa Hytes.”

“Bitch.”

“I gotta split. Goodbyes make me weep.”

Vanessa hugs her goodbye and then she’s gone, and Vanessa is all alone in the apartment with it’s creaky water pipes and sticky counters. The draft from the window chills her ankles, and she tries not to cry as she makes a cup of tea and sips it by the fire escape.

*

Brooke greets Nina with a warm smile that exudes gratitude. She rests her hands on the front desk, elbows locked so she can stretch her back from it’s permanent hunch. She misses the feeling of confidence she used to have when she stood tall and didn’t feel like there was something she was missing. She exhales a long breath through her nose and tries to regain the regularity in the beating of her heart. 

“Miss Hytes,” Nina greets to keep up appearances. 

“Nina,” Brooke replies, because she is finding more and more of a disdain for the politics of politeness. “Do you have any messages for me?” It’s a dance they do every morning she stays there, and Nina doesn’t even have to wait to be asked to be searching for it. 

She shakes her head softly. “I’m afraid not.” She takes Brooke’s AmEx card and swipes it for her to clear all the tabs. “Will you be needing a car to the airport?” 

Brooke nods. “Darryl?” She asks, and Nina calls for him. He appears behind Brooke in a matter of moments, grabbing the handles of her cases in a move to carry them to the car. 

“Darryl took Vanessa home yesterday,” Nina smiles as she tells Brooke - a twinkle in her eye, and Brooke wants to call out her interfering, but she just scrunches her nose instead. “May I, Brooke?” 

Brooke nods apprehensively, waiting to see what Nina will say. “It must be difficult to let go of something so beautiful.”

A smile flutters across Brooke’s face before she can stop it - her pale red lips twisting upwards. Her eyes light up and her cheeks flush. 

“It’s horrible.” She lets herself admit as if they were alone in a quiet room and she was telling a deep and dark secret - voice cracking uncomfortably.

“I hope you find her again,” Nina tells her earnestly - twisting the band on her finger like a lifeline. Brooke can connect the dots - read the suggestion Nina is giving her like a newspaper, and for the first time, she is receptive to it. Receptive to the idea that Vanessa might be her Monét. 

“Darryl is out front with the limousine,” Nina says, handing the AmEx card back. “Come again soon.”

They’ve been friends for a long time, and yet they always let the professional pretenses slide up again. Brooke is starting to think it’s a defence mechanism for her, so she squeezes Nina’s hand in a way that tries to convey love and gratitude and the knowledge that she can be relied on. 

They nod at each other before Brooke turns to the door, and Nina may or may not watch her walk away. Brooke would too - her ass looks fantastic in the slacks. 

She slides into the back seat of the limo with a sigh, catching Darryl’s eye in the rear-view mirror. “LAX,” she tells him, but her voice must waiver, because Darryl squints at her.

“You sure, Ma’am?” 

She sighs painfully and shakes her head, fingers raking through her blonde hair in a way that’s just rough enough to ground her.

“No. Take me to a flower shop,” she sounds definite.

*

The chatter through the neighbourhood is warm and friendly - a mixture of accents and dialects floating in the breeze like cherry blossoms, scattering on the pavement. Two boys play football underneath one of the fire escapes. They take turns kicking it in their ratty trainers, cheering when one can get it into the dumpster across the street. Cars honk, but it’s not angry. 

There is a street vendor selling churros and honey peanuts, and the smell wafts down the street till the air feels sticky from something other than the heat. 

The buildings are yellowed - a pale shade of ochre, peeling in areas to expose solid bricks, and fire escapes wind up the outsides of all the buildings - six or seven storeys high. Someone is playing country music out of their open window. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, french classical music winds its way through the buildings. It’s so achingly familiar to Vanessa that she pulls her attention away from Fantasia on the TV and sticks her head out of her open window, chuckling as she sees her neighbours relaxing on their fire escapes. A chatter amasses with the approaching music, talk of a limo that spreads faster than the car can drive, and Vanessa finds her heart catching in her throat as she strains her neck to see further down the street. And then it appears. 

The sun roof of the limo is open, and Darryl is driving painfully slowly, because Brooke is standing on the back seat, poking out of the hole in the roof from her waist up. Her hair looks remarkably well kept, considering both the sticky heat and the slight breeze that feel like they are fighting each other. She has one hand braced against the roof, and the other is waving a bouquet of roses the same colour as Vanessa’s dress for the ballet was. All of the windows of the car are open and Darryl has the music switch from french classical to an orchestral version of the Disney theme tune. 

Vanessa wants to cry. 

“Princess Vanessa!” Brooke calls out, her stupid blue eyes wide and joyful before they disappear under the roof. The back door opens, and Vanessa clasps her hands to her mouth to choke back either a sob or a laugh. She’s not quite sure. 

Brooke’s smile only falters when she steps out of the car and realises just how high up Vanessa’s apartment is, gulping so visibly that Vanessa actually does laugh. 

“You’re making it awfully hard to rescue you,” Brooke calls up, and Vanessa gives an exaggerated shrug. 

“It’s cheap with a nice view,” she yells back, grinning so widely it hurts. 

She watches as Brooke seems to toy with a couple of ideas, looking between the bouquet in her hand and the precarious looking stairs. She even appears to contemplate throwing the flowers, but Vanessa shakes her head violently, and Brooke comes to her senses. 

She places the plastic wrapped roses between her teeth - the bouquet barely fitting - and begins climbing, hands gripping the rails with a death grip. 

“They’re perfectly safe,” Vanessa shouts down to tease her, and Brooke goes to flip her middle finger up, but can barely remove her hand from the rail. She may have conquered her fear of the stone balcony with it’s high wall, but she’s not quite ready for the barely there metal grating. 

It takes an awfully long time for Brooke to reach her, but Vanessa is laughing the whole time - watching her tall, gorgeous blonde try and climb the fire escape like it’s a waterslide and she’s going the wrong way. When she gets there, Vanessa grabs the bouquet out of Brooke’s mouth, throwing it through the open window. 

And then she kisses her, and she’s pretty sure the world could end and she would be none the wiser.

When Brooke pulls away, she keeps her face mere inches away. “What happens once the knight rescues the princess?” She asks, breathlessly. 

Vanessa smiles, eyes twinkling with happiness. “She saves her back.” 

_ [ fin ] _

**Author's Note:**

> don't be shy with feedback!
> 
> hit me up @pink-grapefruit-cafe on tumblr or right here in the comments
> 
> i love you all <3


End file.
